


VAVV 



' i 












■ 







■ 







Bonk .ElgM ftT 



MICROCOSMOGRAPHY ; 

- ■ >■ 
OR ^-T". "" 

a pitct of ftye motita otecoijereo ; 

IN 

ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS. 



BY JOHN EARLE, D. D. 

M 

OF CHRIST-CHURCH AND MERTON COLLEGES, OXFORD, 
AND BISHOP OF SALISBURY. 



A NEW EDITION. 

TO WHICH ARE ADDED, 

NOTES AND AN APPENDIX, 

BY PHILIP BLISS, 

FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, OXFORD. 

LONDON: 

PRINTED FOR WHITE AND COCHRANE, FLEET-STREET 

AND 

JOHN HARDING, ST. JAMEs'S-STREET. 



1811, 



1211 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



THE present edition of Bishop Earle's Cha- 
racters was undertaken from an idea that they were 
well worthy of republication, and that the present 
period, when the productions of our early English 
writers are sought after with an avidity hitherto un- 
exampled, would be the most favourable for their 
appearance. 

The text has been taken from the edition of 1732, 
collated with the first impression in 1 628. The va- 
riations from the latter are thus distinguished : — 
those words or passages which have been added since 
the first edition are contained between brackets, 
[and printed in the common type] ; those which 
have received some alteration, are printed in italic, 
and the passages, as they stand in the first edition, 
are always given in a note. 



VI 

For the Notes, Appendix, and Index, the editor 
is entirely answerable, and although he is fully 
aware that many superfluities will be censured, 
many omissions discovered, and many errors pointed 
out, he hopes that the merits of the original author 
will, in a great measure, compensate for the false 
judgment or neglect of his reviver. 

January 30,, 1811. 



vn 



THE PREFACE 

[TO THE EDITION OF 1732*.] 



THIS little book had six editions between 1628 and 
1633, without any author's name to recommend it: I 
have heard of an eighth in 1664. From that of 33 this 
present edition is reprinted, without altering any thing 
but the plain errors of the press, and the old pointing 
and spelling in s-ome places. 

The language is generally easy, and proves our En- 
glish tongue no* to be so very changeable as is com- 
monly supposed; nay, sometimes the phrase seems a 
little obscure, more by the mistakes of the printer than 
the distance of time. Here and there we meet with a 
broad expression, and some characters are far below 
others ; nor is it to be expected that so great a variety 
of portraits should all be drawn with equal excellence, 
though there are scarce any without some masterly 
touches. The change of fashions unavoidably casts a 

* London: Printed by E. Say, Anno Domini m.dcc.xxxh. 



Vlll 

shade upon a few places, yet even those contain an ex- 
act picture of the age wherein they were written, as the 
rest does of mankind in general : for reflections founded 
upon nature will be just in the main, as long as men are 
men, though the particular instances of vice and folly 
may be diversified. Paul's Walk is now no more, but 
then good company adjourn to coffee-houses, and, at the 
reasonable fine of two or three pence, throw away as 
much of their precious time as they find troublesome. 

Perhaps these valuable essays may be as acceptable to 
the public now as they were at first ; both for the enter- 
tainment of those who are already experienced in the 
ways of mankind, and for the information of others who 
would know the world the best way, that is — without 
trying it *. 

* A short account of Earle, taken from the AtJiena Oxa- 
nienses is here omitted. 



IX 



ADVERTISEMENT 

[TO THE EDITION OF 1786*.] 



AS this entertaining little book is become rather scarce, 
and is replete with so much good sense and genuine 
humour, which, though in part adapted to the times 
when it first appeared, seems, on the whole, by no means 
inapplicable to any a^ra of mankind, the editor conceives 
that there needs little apology for the republication. A 
farther inducement is, his having, from very good au- 
thority, lately discovered f that these Characters (hither- 
to known only under the title of Blount's t), were ac- 

* " Microcosmography ; or, a Piece of the World charac- 
terized ; in Essays and Characters. London, printed A. D, 
1650. Salisbury, Reprinted and sold by E. Easton, 1786. 
Sold also by G. and T. tVilkie, St. Paul's Church-yard, London" 

t I regret extremely that I am unable to put the reader in 
possession of this very acute discoverer's name. 

| This mistake originated with Langbaine, who, in his ac- 
count of Lilly, calls Blount " a gentleman who has made 
himself known to the world by the several pieces of his own 
writing, (as Horce Subsecivce, his Microcosmography, &c") 
Dramatic Poets, 8vo. 1691, p. 327. 



tually drawn by the able pencil of John Earle, who 
was formerly bishop of Sarum, having been translated 
to that see from Worcester, A.D. 1663, and died at 
Oxford, 1665. 

Isaac Walton, in his Life of Hooker, delineates the 
character of the said venerable prelate. 

It appears from Antony Wood's Athe'n. Oxon. under 
the Life of Bishop Earle, that this book was first of all 
published at London in 1628, under the name of " Ed- 
zvard Blount." 



XI 



EDITIONS OF " MIC&OCOSMOGRAPHY." 



THE first edition (of which the Bodleian possesses a 
copy, 8vo. P. 154. Theol.) was printed with the follow- 
ing title : " Micro-cosmographie : or, a Peece of the 
World discovered; Jn Essayes and Characters. Newly 
composed for the Northerne parts of this Kingdome. At 
London. Printed by W. S.for Ed. Blount, 1628." This 
contains only fifty- four characters *, which in the present 
edition are placed first. I am unable to speak of any sub- 
sequent copy, till one in the following year, (1629), 
printed for Robert Allot f, and called in the title " The 
first edition much enlarged." This, as Mr. Henry Ellis 
kindly inlorms me, from a copy in the British Museum, 
possesses seventy-six characters. The sixth was printed 
for Allot, in 1633, (Bodl. Mar. 441,) and has seventy- 
eight, the additional ones being " a herald," and " a sus- 
picious, or jealous man." The seventh appeared in 1638, 
for Andrew Crooke, agreeing precisely with the sixth; 
and in 1650 the eighth. A copy of the latter is in the 

* Having never seen or been able to hear of any copy of 
the second, third, or fourth editions, I am unable to pdio^out 
when the additional characters first appeared. 

t Robert Allot, better known as the editor of England's 
Parnassus, appears to have succeeded Blount in several of 
his copy-rights, among others, in that of Shakspeare, as the 
second edition (1632) was printed for him. 



Xll 



curious library of Mr. Hill, and, as Mr. Park acquaints 
me, is without any specific edition numbered in the title. 
I omit that noticed by the editor of 1732, as printed in 
1664, for if such a volume did exist, which I much 
doubt, it was nothing more than a copy of the eighth 
with a new title-page. In 1732 appeared the ninth, 
which was a reprint of the sixth, executed with care and 
judgment. I have endeavoured in vain to discover 
to whom we are indebted for this republication of 
bishop Earle's curious volume, but it is probable that 
the person who undertook it, found so little encourage- 
ment in his attempt to revive a taste for the productions 
of our early writers, that he suffered his name to remain 
unknown. Certain it is that the impression, probably 
not a large one, did not sell speedily, as I have seen a 
copy, bearing date 1740, under the name of " The World 
display d : or several Essays ; consisting of the various 
Characters and Passions of its principal Inhabitants," &c. 
London, printed for C. Ward, and It. Chandler. Th©- 
edition printed at Salisbury, in 1786, (which has only 
seventy-four characters,) with that now offered to the 
public, close the list. 



X1U 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

Advertisement to the present edition v 

Preface to the edition of 1732 . . . vM 

Advertisement to the edition of 1786 ix 

Editions of Microcosmographj xi 

Blount's Preface to the Reader xix 

Achild 1 

A young raw preacher 4 

A grave divine 9 

A meer dull physician 12 

An alderman 18 

A discontented man 20 

An antiquary 22 

A younger brother 24 

A meer formal man 27 

A church papist « 29 

A self conceited man 32 

A too idly reserved man , 34 



XIV 

PAGE 

A tavern 37 

A shark , 41 

A carrier 45 

A young man 47 

An old college butler 50 

An upstart country knight 53 

An idle gallaut 5? 

A constable 59 

A downright scholar 61 

A plain countiy fellow 64 

A player 67 

A detractor 70 

A young gentleman of the university 73 

A weak man 76 

A tobacco-seller 79 

A pot poet 80 

A plausible man 84 

A bowl-alley 86 

The world's wise man 87 

A surgeon 90 

A contemplative man 93 

A she precise hypocrite 94 

A scoptick iu religion 99 

An attorney • * ^ 



PAGE 

A partial man 107 

A trumpeter 109 

A vulgar spirited man Ill 

A plodding student 114 

Paul's walk • 116 

A cook 120 

A bold forward man 1 22 

A baker 125 

A pretender to learning 127 

A herald y. 130 

The common singing-men in cathedral churches 132 

A shop-keeper >' 134 

i A blunt man 135 

■J 
A handsome hostess 138 

A critic « 139 

A serjeant, or catch-pole • 141 

An university dun 142 

A stayed man • • • 144 

[All from this character were added after the first edition.] 

A modest man 147 

A meer empty wit » 151 

A drunkard 153 

A prison 1 56 



XVI 

PAGE 

A serving-man 159 

An insolent man 161 

Acquaintance • 164 

A meer complimental man 167 

A poor fiddler * <■ 169 

A meddling-man 171 

A good old man 173 

A flatterer 176 

A high spirited man • 179 

A meer gull citizen 181 

A lascivious man 187 

A rash man 189 

An affected man 192 

A profane man -• 195 

A coward • 196 

A sordid rich man * 198 

A meer great man 201 

A poor man » 203 

An ordinary honest man • • • • 206 

A suspicious, or jealous man 208 



xvn 

APPENDIX. 

PAGE. 

Some account of bishop Earle * • • • • 211 

Characters of bishop Earle • • • • 219 

List of Dr. Earle's Works 223 

Lines on sir John Burroughs 225 

Lines on the death of the earl of Pembroke 227 

Lines on Mr. Beaumont 229 

Dedication to the Latin translation of the Etxw Bae-iXiKr, 233 

Inscription on Dr. Heylin's monument • 237 

Correspondence between Dr. Earle and Mr. Bagster • • 240 

Inscription in Streglethorp church 244 

Chronological List of Books of Characters, from 1567 

to 1700 ► 246 

Corrections and additions • 315 

A note on bishop Earle's arms, from Guillim's Heraldry 318 

* It will be remarked, that Dr. Earle's name is frequently > 
spelled Earle and Earles in the following pages. Wherever 
the editor has had occasion to use the name himself, he has 
invariably called it Earle, conceiving that to be the proper 
orthography. Wherever it is found Earles, he has attended 
strictly to the original, from which the article or information 
has been derived. 



XIX 



TO THE READER*. 



I HAVE (for once) adventured to play the midwife's 
part, helping to bring forth these infants into the world, 
which the father would have smothered ; who having 
left them lapt up in loose sheets, as soon as his fancy- 
was delivered of them, written especially for his private 
recreation, to pass away the time in the country, and by 
the forcible request of friends drawn from him : yet, 
passing severally from hand to hand, in written copies, 
grew at length to be a pretty number in a little volume : 
and among so many sundry dispersed transcripts, some 
very imperfect and surreptitious had like to have passed 
the press, if the author had not used speedy means of 
prevention ; when, perceiving the hazard he ran to be 
wronged, was unwillingly f willing to let them pass as 
now they appear to the world. If any faults have 
escaped the press (as few books can be printed without), 
impose them not on the author, I intreat thee; but ra- 
ther impute them to mine and the printer's oversight, 

* Gentile, or Gentle, 8th edit. 1650. 
t Willingly, 8th edit, evidently a typographical error. 



XX 



who seriously promise, on the re-impression hereof, by 
greater care and diligence for this our former default' to 
make thee ample satisfaction. In the mean while] I 
remain 

Thine, 

Ed. Blount *. 

* Edward Blount, who lived at the Black Bear, Saint 
Paul's Church-yard, appears to have been a bookseller of re- 
spectability, and in some respects a man of letters. Many 
dedications and prefaces, with as much merit as compositions 
of this nature generally possess, bear his name, and there is 
every reason to suppose that he translated a work from the 
Italian, which he intituled « The Hospitall of Inerrable 
Fooles" &c. 4to. 1600. Mr. Ames has discovered, from the 
Stationer's Register, that he was the son of Ralph Blount or 
Blunt, merchant-taylor of London ; that he was apprenticed 
to William Ponsonby, in 1578, and made free in 1588. It is 
no slight honour to his taste and judgment, that he was one of 
the partners in the first edition of Shakspeare. 



MICROCOSMOGRAPHY ; 

or, 

A piece of the World characterized 



1. 

A child 
IS a man in a small letter, yet the best copy 
of Adam before he tasted of Eve or the apple ; 
and he is happy whose small practice in the 
world can only write his character. He is na- 
ture's fresh picture newly drawn in oil, which 
time, and much handling, dims and defaces. His 
soul is yet a white paper l unscribbled with obser- 

1 So Washbourne, in his Divine Poems, 12mo. 
1654: 

" ere 'tis accustom'd unto sin, 

The mind white paper is, and will admit 
Of any lesson you will write in it."— p. 26, 
B 



XX 

who seriously promise, on the re-impression hereof, by 
greater care and diligence for this our former default, to 
make thee ample satisfaction. In the mean while, I 
remain 

Thine, 

Ed. Blount*. 

* Edward Blount, who lived at the Black Bear, Saint 
Paul's Church-yard, appears to have been a bookseller of re- 
spectability, and in some respects a man of letters. Many 
dedications and prefaces, with as much merit as compositions 
of this nature generally possess, bear his name, and there is 
every reason to suppose that he translated a work from the 
Italian, which he intituled " The Hospitall of Inerrable 
Fooles," Sec. 4to. 1600. Mr. Ames has discovered, from the 
Stationer's Register, that he was the son of Ralph Blount or 
Blunt, merchant-taylor of London ; that he was apprenticed 
to William Ponsonby, in 1578, and made free in 1588. It is 
no slight honour to his taste and judgment, that he was one of 
the partners in the first edition of Shakspeare. 



MICROCOSMOGRAPHY ; 

or, 

A piece of the World characterized. 



1. 

A child 
IS a man in a small letter, yet the best copy 
of Adam before he tasted of Eve or the apple ; 
and he is happy whose small practice in the 
world can only write his character. He is na- 
ture's fresh picture newly drawn in oil, which 
time, and much handling", dims and defaces. His 
soul is yet a white paper ■ unscribbled with obser* 

1 So Washbourne, in his Divine Poems, 12mo. 
1654: 

" ere 'tis accustom'd unto sin, 

The mind white paper is, and will admit 
Of any lesson you will write in it." — p. 26\ 

B 



2 

rations of the world, -wherewith, at length, it 
becomes a blurred note-book. He is purely 
happy, because he knows no evil, nor hath 
made means by sin to be acquainted with 
misery. He arrives not at the mischief of 
being wise, nor endures evils to come, by fore- 
seeing them. He kisses and loves all, and, 
when the smart of the rod is past, smiles on 
his beater. Nature and his parents alike dandle 
him, and tice him on with a bait of sugar to a 
draught of wormwood. He plays yet, like 
a young prentice the first day, and is not come 
to his task of melancholy. [ 2 All the language 
he speaks yet is tears, and they serve him well 
enough to express his necessity.] His hardest 

Shakspeare, of a child, says, 

** the hand of time 

Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume." 

K.John, II. 1. 

2 This, and every other passage throughout the 
volume, [included between brackets,] does not appear 
in the first edition of 1628. 



labour is his tongue, as if he were loath to use 
so deceitful an organ ; and he is best company 
with it when he can but prattle. We laugh at 
his foolish ports, but his game is our earnest ; 
and his drums, rattles, and hobby-horses, but 
the emblems and mocking of man's business. 
His father hath writ him as his own little story, 
wherein he reads those days of his life that he 
cannot remember, and sighs to see what inno- 
cence he hath out-lived. The elder he grows, 
he is a stair lower from God ; and, like his first 
father, much worse in his breeches 3 . He is 
the Christian's example, and the old man's re- 
lapse; the one imitates his pureness, and the 
other falls into his simplicity. Could he put 
off his body with his little coat, he had got eter- 



s Adam did not, to use the words of the old Geneva 
Bible, " make himself breeches," till he knew sin: the 
meaning of the passage in the text is merely that, as a 
child advances in age, he commonly proceeds in the 
knowledge and commission of vice and immorality. 

B 2 



nity without a burden, and exchanged but one 
liea ven for another. 



II. 

A young raw 'preacher 
Is a bird not yet fledged, that hath hopped 
out of his nest to be chirping on a hedge, and 
will be straggling abroad at what peril soever. 
His backwardness in the university hath set him 
thus forward ; for had he not truanted there, 
he had not been so hasty a divine. His small 
standing, and time, hath made him a proficient 
only in boldness, out of which, and his table- 
book, he is furnished for a preacher. His col- 
lections of study are the notes of sermons, 
which, taken up at St. Mary's 4 , he utters in the 



4 St. Mary's church was originally built by king 
Alfred, and annexed to the University of Oxford, for the 



country : and if he write brachigraphy 5 , his 
stock is so much the better. His writing is 
more than his reading, for he reads only what 
he gets without book. Thus accomplished he 
comes down to his friends, and his first saluta- 
tion is grace and peace out of the pulpit. 
His prayer is conceited, and no man remembers 



use of the scholars, when St. Giles's and St. Peter's 
(which were till then appropriated to them,) had been 
ruined by the violence of the Danes. It was totally re- 
built during the reign of Henry VII. who gave forty 
oaks towards the materials; and is, to this day, the 
place of worship in which the public sermons are 
preached before the members of the university. 

5 Brachigrapjiy y or short-hand-writing, appears to 
have been much studied in our author's time, and was 
probably esteemed a fashionable accomplishment. It was 
first introduced into this country by Peter Bales, who, 
in 1590, published The Writing Schoolmaster, a treatise 
consisting of three parts, the first a of Brachygraphie, 
that is, to write as fast as a man speaketh treatably, 
writing but one letter for a word;" the second, of Or- 
thography ; and the third, of Calligraphy. Imprinted 
at London, by T. Orwin, &c. 1590. 4to. A second 
edition, " with ] sundry new additions," appeared in 



6 

his college more at large 6 . The pace of his 
sermon is a full career, and he runs wildly over 

1597. 12mo. Imprinted at London, by George Shawe, 
&c. Holinshed gives the following description of one 
of Bales' performances :— " The tenth of August (1575,) 
a rare peece of worke, and almost incredible, was 
brought to passe by an Englishman borne in the citie of 
London, named Peter Bales, who by his industrie and 
practise of his pen, contriued and writ within the com- 
passe of a penie, in Latine, the Lord's praier, the creed, 
the ten commandements, a praier to God, a praier for 
the queene, his posie, his name, the daie of the moneth, 
the yeare of our Lord, and the reigne of the queene. 
And on the seuenteenthe of August next following, at 
Hampton court, he presented the same to the queen's 
maiestie, in the head of a ring of gold, couered with a 
christall ; and presented therewith an excellent spec- 
tacle by him deuised, for the easier reading thereof: 
wherewith hir maiestie read all that was written therein 
with great admiration, and commended the same to the 
lords of the councell, and the ambassadors, and did 
weare the same manie times vpon hir finger." iio/i/i- 
shed's Chronicle, page 1262, b. edit, folio, Lond. 1587. 

6 It is customary in all sermons delivered before 
the University, to use an introductory prayer for the 
founder of, and principal benefactors to, the preacher's 
individual college, as well as for the officers and mem- 
bers of the university in general. This, however, 



Mil and dale, till the clock stop him. The la- 
bour of it is chiefly in his lungs ; and the only 
thing he has made 7 in it himself, is the faces. 
He takes on against the pope without mercy, 
and has a jest still in lavender for Bellarmine : 
yet he preaches heresy, if it comes in his way, 
though with a mind, I must needs say, very or- 
thodox. His action is all passion, and his 
speech interjections. He has an excellent fa- 
culty in bemoaning the people, and spits with a 
very good grace. [His stile is compounded of 
twenty several men's, only his body imitates 
some one extraordinary.] He will not draw his 
handkercher out of his place, nor blow his nose 
without discretion. His commendation is, that 
he never looks upon book ; and indeed he was 
never used to it. He preaches but once a year, 
though twice on Sunday ; for the stuff is still 

would appear very ridiculous when " he comes down ta 
his friends," or, in other words, preaches before a coun- 
try congregation. 
7 of, first edit. 1628. 



8 

the same, only the dressing a little altered : he 
has more tricks with a sermon, than a taylor 
with an old cloak, to turn it, and piece it, and 
at last quite disguise it with a new preface. It" 
he have waded farther in his profession, and 
would shew reading of his own, his authors are 
postils, and his school-divinity a catechism. 
His fashion and demure habit gets him in with 
some town-precisian, and makes him a guest on 
Friday nights. You shall, know him by his 
narrow velvet cape, and serge facing ; and his 
ruff, next his hair, the shortest thing about 
him. The companion of his walk is some zea- 
lous tradesman, whom he astonishes with strange 
points, which tliey both understand alike. His 
friends and mucli painfulness may prefer him 
to thirty pounds a year, and this means to a 
chambermaid ; with whom we leave him now in. 
the bonds of wedlock : — next Sunday you shall 
have him again. 



III. 

A grave divine 
Is one that knows the burthen of his calling, 
and hath studied to make his shoulders suffi- 
cient; for which he hath not been hasty to 
launch forth of his port, the university, but 
expected the ballast of learning, and the wind 
of opportunity. Divinity is not the beginning 
but the end of his studies ; to which he takes 
the ordinary stair, and makes the arts his way. 
He counts it not prophaneness to be polished 
with human reading, or to smooth his way by 
Aristotle to school-divinity. He has sounded 
both religions, and anchored in the best, and is 
a protestant out of judgment, not faction ; not 
because his country, but his reason is on this 
6ide. The ministry is his choice, not refuge, 
and yet the pulpit not his itch, but fear. His 
discourse is substance, not al rhetoric, and he 
utters more things than words. His speech is 



10 

not helped with inforced action, but the mat- 
ter acts itself. He shoots all his meditations at 
one but; and beats upon his text, not the 
cushion; making his hearers, not the pulpit 
groan. In citing of popish errors, he cuts 
them with arguments, not cudgels them with 
barren invectives ; and labours more to shew 
the truth of his cause than the spleen. His ser- 
mon is limited by the method, not the hour- 
glass; and his devotion goes along with him 
out of the pulpit. He comes not up thrice a 
week, because he would not be idle ; nor talks 
three hours together, because he would not talk 
nothing : but his tongue preaches at fit times, 
and his conversation is the every day's exer- 
cise. In matters of ceremony, he is not cere- 
monious, but thinks he owes that reverence to 
the church to bow his judgement to it, and 
make more conscience of schism, than a sur- 
plice. He esteems the church hierarchy as the 
church's glory, and however we jar with Rome, 



11 

would not have our confusion distinguish us. 
In simoniacal purchases he thinks his soul goes 
in the bargain, and is loath to come by pro- 
motion so dear : yet his worth at length ad- 
vances him, and the price of his own merit 
buys him a living. He is no base grater of his 
tythes, and will not wrangle for the odd egg. 
The lawyer is the only man he hinders, by 
whom he is spited for taking up quarrels. He 
is a main pillar of our church, though not yet 
dean or canon, and his life our religion's best 
apology. His death is the last sermon, where, 
in the pulpit of his bed, he instructs men to die 
by his example 8 . 



8 I cannot forbear to close this admirable character 
with the beautiful description of a " poure Persone," 
riche of holy thought and zeerk f given by the father of 
English poetry : — 

" Benigne he was, and wonder diligent, 
And in adversite ful patient : 
And swiche he was ypreved often sithes. 
Ful loth were him to cursen for his tithes, 



12 



IV. 



A meer dull physician. 
His practice is some business at bedsides, 
and his speculation an urinal: he is distin- 
guished from an empiric, by a round velvet cap 
and doctor's gown, yet no man takes degrees 

But rather wolde he yeven out of doute, 
Unto his poure parishens aboute, 
Of his offring, and eke of his substance. 
He coude in litel thing have suffisance. 
Wide was his parish, and houses fer asonder, 
But he ne left nought for no rain ne thonder, 
In sikenessc and in mischief to visite 
The ferrest in his parish, moche and lite, 
Upon his fete, and in his hand a staf. 

* * * * 

And though he holy were, and vertuous, 
He was to sinful men not dispitous, 
Ne of his speche dangerous ne digne, 
But in his teching discrete and benigne. 
To drawen folk to heven, with fairenesse, 
By good ensample, was his besinesse. 

* * * * 

lie waited after no pompe ne reverence, 
Ne maked him no spiced conscience, 



13 

more superfluously, for he is doctor howsoever. 
He is sworn to Galen and Hippocrates, as uni- 
versity men to their statutes, though they never 
saw them ; and his discourse is all aphorisms, 
though his reading be only Alexis of Piedmont 9 , Jjg 






t\ f\ 



But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve, 
He taught, but first he folwed it himselve " 

Chaucer, Prol. to Cant. Tales, v. 485. 

We may surely conclude with a line from the same 
poem, 

" A better preest I trowe that nowher non is." 

9 The secretes of the renerende maister Alexis of Pic- 
movnt, containing ercellente remedies against diners dis- 
eases, &c. appear to have been a very favourite study 
either with the physicians, or their patients, about this 
period. 

They were originally written in Italian, and were ft 
translated into English by William WardeJ' of which 
editions were printed at London, in 1553, 1562, 1595, 
and 1615. In 1603, a. fourth edition of a Latin version 
appeared at Basil ; and from Ward's dedication to " the 
lorde Russell, erle of Bedford," it seems that the 
French and Dutch were not without so great a treasure 
in their own languages. A specimen of the impor- 
tance of this publication maybe given in the title of the 



14 

or the Regiment of Health I0 . The best cure he 
has done, is upon his own purse, which from 
a lean sickliness he hath made lusty, and in 
flesh. His learning consists much in reckoning 
up the hard names of diseases, and the super- 
scriptions of gally-pots in his apothecary's 
shop, which are ranked in his shelves and the 
doctor's memory. He is, indeed, only lan- 
guaged in diseases, and speaks Greek many 
times when he knows not. If he have been but 
a by-stander at some desperate recovery, he is 
slandered with it though he be guiltless ; and 
this breeds his reputation, and that his prac- 
tice, for his skill is merely opinion. Of all 
odours he likes best the smell of urine, and 



first secret. " The maner and secrete to conserue a 
man's youth, and to holde back olde age, to maintaine a 
man always in helth and strength, as in the fayrest 
floure of his yeres." 

10 The Regiment of Hclthe, by Thomas Paynell, is 
another volume of the same description, and was 
printed by Thomas Berthelette, in 1541. 4to. 



15 

holds Vespasian's " rule, that no gain is unsa- 
vory. If you send this once to him you must 
resolve to be sick howsoever, for he will never 
leave examining your water, till he has shaked 
it into a disease 2 : then follows a writ to his 
drugger in a strange tongue, which he under- 
stands, though he cannot conster. If he see 
you himself, his presence is the worst visitation: 
for if he cannot heal your sickness, he will 
be sure to help it. He translates his apothe- 
cary's shop into your chamber, and the very 

1 Vespatian, tenth emperor of Rome, imposed, a tax 
upon urine, and when his son Titus remonstrated with 
him on the meanness of the act, " Pecuniam," says Sue- 
tonius, " ex prima pensione admovit ad nares, suscitans 
num odore offenderetur ? et illo negante, atqui, inquit, 
c lotio est." 

2 " Vpon the market-day he is much haunted with 
vrinals, where, if he finde any thing, (though he knowe 
nothing,) yet hee will say some-what, which if it hit to 
some purpose, with a fewe fustian words, hee will seeme 
a piece of strange stuffe." Character of an unworthy 
physician. " The Good and the Badde," by Nicholas 
Breton, 4to. 1618. 



16 

windows and benches must take physic. He 
tells you your malady in Greek, though it be 
but a cold, or head-ach ; which by good en- 
deavour and diligence he may bring to some 
moment indeed. His most unfaithful act is, 
that he leaves a man gasping, and his pretence is, 
death and he have a quarrel and must not 
meet ; but his fear is, lest the carkass should 
bleed 3 . Anatomies, and other spectacles of 
mortality, have hardened him, and he is no 
more struck with a funeral than a grave-maker. 
Noblemen use him for a director of their sto- 



■" That the murdered body bleeds at the approach of 
the murderer, was, in our author's time, a commonly re- 
ceived opinion, llolinshed affirms that the corps of 
Henry the Sixth bled as it was carrying for interment j 
and Sir Kenelm Dighy so firmly believed in the truth of 
the report, that he has endeavoured to explain the rea- 
■ on. It is rcmaiked by Mr. Steevens, in a note to Shak- 
■>, that the opinion seems to be derived (rom the 
• i u: lent Swedes, or Northern nations, from whom we 
descend ; as they practised this method of trial in all 
dubious cases- 



17 

mach, and ladies for wantonness 4 , especially if 
he be a proper man 5 . If he be single, he is in 
league with his she- apothecary ; and because 
it is the physician, the husband is patient. If 
he have leisure to be idle (that is to study,) he 
has a smatch at alcumy, and is sick of the phi- 
losopher's stone ; a disease uncurable, but by 
an abundant phlebotomy of the purse. His 
two main opposites are a mountebank and a 
good woman, and he never shews his learning 
so much as in an invective against them and 
their boxes. In conclusion, he is a sucking 
consumption, and a very brother to the worms, 
for they are both ingendered out of man's cor- 
ruption. 



4 " Faith, doctor, it is well, thy study is to please 
The female sex, and how their corp'rall griefes to 

ease." 

Goddard's " Mastif Whelp." Satires. 4 to. Without 
date. Sat. 17. 

5 Proper for handsome. 

c 



18 



An alderman. 
He is venerable in his gown, more in his 
beard, wherewith he sets not forth so much his 
own, as the face of a city. You must look on 
him as one of the town gates, and consider him 
not as a body, but a corporation. His emi- 
nency above others hath made him a man of 
worship, for he had never been preferred, but 
that he was worth thousands. He over-sees the 
commonwealth, as his shop, and it is an argu- 
ment of his policy, that he has thriven by his 
craft. He is a rigorous magistrate in his ward ; 
yet his scale of justice is suspected, lest it be 
like the balances in his warehouse. A ponde- 
rous man he is, and substantial, for his weight is 
commonly extraordinary, and in his preferment 
nothing rises so much as his belly. His head is 
of no great depth, yet well furnished ; and 



19 

when it is in conjunction with his brethren, may 
bring forth a city apophthegm, or some such 
sage matter. He is one that will not hastily 
run into error, for he treads with great de- 
liberation, and his judgment consists muchi 
his pace. His discourse is commonly the an- 
nals of his mayoralty, and what good govern- 
ment there was in the days of his gold chain 
though the door posts were the only things that 
suffered reformation. He seems most sincerely 
religious, especially on solemn days ; for he 
comes often to church to make a shew, [and is 
a part of the quire hangings.] He is the 
highest stair of his profession, and an example 
to his trade, what in time they may come to. 
He makes very much of his authority, but more 
of his sattin doublet, which, though of good 
years, bears its age very well, and looks fresh 
every Sunday : but his scarlet gown is a monu- 
ment, and lasts from generation to generation, 
c2 



20 



VI. 

A discontented man 
Is one that is fallen out with the world, 
and will be revenged on himself. Fortune has 
denied him in something, and he now takes pet, 
and will be miserable in spite. The root of his 
disease is a self- humouring pride, and an ac- 
customed tenderness not to be crossed in his 
fancy ; and the occasion commonly of one of 
these three, a hard father, a peevish wench, 
or his ambition thwarted. He considered not 
the nature of the world till he felt it, and all 
blows fall on him heavier, because they light 
not first on his expectation. He has now fore- 
gone all but his pride, and is yet vain-glorious 
in the ostentation of his melancholy. His 
composure of himself is a studied carelessness, 
with his arms across, and a neglected hanging 
of his head and cloak; and he is as great an 



21 

enemy to an hat-band, as fortune. He quarrels 
at the time and up-starts, and sighs at the neg- 
lect of men of parts, that is, such as himself. 
His life is a perpetual satyr, and lie is still 
girding 6 the age's vanity, when this very anger 
shews he too much esteems it. He is much 
displeased to see men merry, and wonders what 
they can find to laugh at. He never draws his 
own lips higher than a smile, and frowns 
wrinkle him before forty. He at last falls into 
that deadly melancholy to be a bitter hater of 
men, and is the most apt companion for any 
mischief. He is the spark that kindles the 
commonwealth, and the bellows himself to 
blow it : and if he turn any thing, it is com- 
monly one of these, either friar, traitor, or 
mad -man. 



6 To gird, is to sneer at, or scorn any one. Fal staff 
says, " men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me." — 
Henry IV. Part 2. 



22 



VII, 



An antiquary ; 
He is a man strangly thrifty of time past, and 
an enemy indeed to his maw, whence he fetches 
out many things when they are now all rotten 
and stinking. He is one that hath that unna- 
tural disease to be enamoured of old age and 
wrinkles, and loves all things (as Dutchmen do 
cheese,) the better for being mouldy and worm- 
eaten. He is of our religion, because we say 
it is most antient ; and yet a broken statue 
would almost make him an idolater. A great 
admirer he is of the rust of old monuments, and 
reads only those characters, where time hath 
eaten out the letters. He will go you forty 
miles to see a saint's well or a ruined abbey ; 
and there be but a cross or stone foot-stool in the 
way, he'll be considering it so long, till he for- 
get his journey. His estate consists much in 



23 

shekels, and Roman coins; and lie hath more 
pictures of Caesar, than James" or Elizabeth. 
Beggars cozen him with musty things which 
they have raked from dunghills, and he pre- 
serves their rags for precious relicks. He loves 
no library, but where there are more spiders 
volumes than authors, and looks with great ad- 
miration on the antique work of cobwebs. 
Printed books he contemns, as a novelty of this 
latter age, but a manuscript he pores on ever- 
lastingly, especially if the cover be all moth- 
eaten, and the dust make a parenthesis between 
every syllable. He would give all the books in 
his study (which are rarities all,) for one of the 
old Roman binding, or six lines of Tully in his 
own hand. His chamber is hung commonly 
with strange beasts skins, and is a kind of char- 
nel-house of bones extraordinary; and his 
discourse upon them, if you will hear him, 
shall last longer. His very attire is that which 



24 

is the eldest out of fashion, [* and you may 
pick a criticism out of his breeches.^ He never 
looks upon himself till he is grey-haired, and 
then he is pleased with his own antiquity. His 
grave does not fright him, for he has been 
used to sepulchers, and he likes death the bet- 
ter, because it gathers him to his fathers. 



Vlli. 

A younger brother. 
His elder brother was the Esau, that came 
out first and left him like Jacob at his heels. 
His father has done with him, as Pharoah to the 
children of Israel, that would have them make 
brick and give them no straw, so he tasks him 

* In the first edition it stands thus: — " and his hut is 
ns antient as the tuzce?- of Babel." 



to be at gentleman, and leaves him nothing to 
it. The pride of his house has wn- 
hich the elder's knighthood most 
sustain, and his beggary that knighthood. His 

:_r± in :i—Z~z -P ~~ -'-'■ =--- — - : —'■ 
scend to the means to get wealth : but he stands 
at the mercy of the world, and which is worse, 
of his brother. He is something better than 
the serving-men; yet they more saucy with 
him than he bold with the master, who beholds 
Liz: -::'_ 3 : : -i".r:ii:-r :: i:er:. i~r. ir:i 
;: r ;i ; l.:n irtir: i:~ Lis L.-t::- H:^ ":::- 
ther's old suits and he are much alike in 
quest, and cast off now and then one to the 
other. Nature hath famished him with a little 
more wit upon compassion, for it is like to 
be his best revenue. If his annuity stretch so 
far, he is sent to the university, and with great 
heart -burning takes upon him the ministry, as 
a profession he is condemned to by his ill for- 



26 

the king's high-way ; where at length their 
vizard is plucked off, and they strike fair for 
Tyburn : but their brother's pride, not love, 
gets them a pardon. His last refuge is the Low- 
countries 7 , where rags and lice are no scandal, 
where he lives a poor gentleman of a company, 
and dies without a shirt. The only thing that 
may better his fortunes is an art he has to make 
a gentlewoman, wherewith he baits now and 
then some rich widow that is hungry after his 
blood. He is commonly discontented and des- 
perate, and the form of his exclamation is, that 

7 The Low-countries appear to have afforded ample 
room for ridicule at all times. In " A brief Character 
of the Low-countries under the States, being Three Weeks 
Observation of' the Vices and Virtues of the Inhabitants, 
written by Owen Felltham, and printed Lond. 1659, 
12mo. we find them epitomized as a general sea-land — the 
great bog of Europe— an universal quagmire — in short, 
a green cheese in pickle. The sailors (in which deno- 
mination the author appears to include all the natives,) 
he describes as being able to "drink, rail, swear, niggle, 
steal, andbe lowsie alike." P. 40. 



27 

churl my brother. He loves not his country 
for this unnatural custom, and would have long 
since revolted to the Spaniard, but for Kent 8 
only, which he holds in admiration. 



IX. 

A meer formal man 
Is somewhat more than the shape of a man ; 
for he has his length, breadth, and colour. 

8 Gavelkind, or the practice of dividing lands equally 
among all the male children of the deceased, was (ac- 
cording to Spelman,) adopted by the Saxons, from 
Germany, and is noticed by Tacitus in his description 
of that nation. Gloss. Archaiol. folio, Lond. 1664. Har- 
rison, in The Description of England, prefixed to Holin- 
shed's Chronicle, (vol. i. page 180,) says, " Gauell kind 
is all the male children equallie to inherit, and is con- 
tinued to this daie in Kent, where it is onelie to my 
knowledge reteined, and no where else in England.'" 
And Lambarde, in his Customes of Kent, (Perambula- 
tion, 4to. 1596, page 538,) thus notices it : — " The 
custom of Grauelkynde is generall, and spreadeth itselfe 
throughout the whole shyre, into all landes subiect by 
auncient tenure vnto the same, such places onely ex- 
cepted, where it is altered by acte of parleament." 



28 

When you have seen his outside, you have 
looked through him, and need employ your 
discovery no farther. His reason is merely 
example, and bis action is not guided by his un- 
derstanding, but he sees other men do thus, and 
he follows them. He is a negative, for we can- 
not call him a wise man, but not a fool ; nor an 
honest man, but not a knave ; nor a protestant, 
but not a papist. The chief burden of his brain 
is the carriage of his body and the setting of 
his face in a good frame; which he performs 
the better, because he is not disjointed with other 
meditations. His religion is a good quiet sub- 
ject, and he prays as he swears, in the phrase 
of the land. He is a fair guest, and a fair in- 
viter, and can excuse his good cheer in the ac- 
customed apology. He lias some faculty in 
mangling of a rabbit, and the distribution of 
his morsel to a neighbour's trencher. He ap- 
prehends a jest by seeing men smile, and 
laughs orderly himself, when it comes to his 



29 

turn. His businesses with his friends are to 
visit them, and whilst the business is no more, he 
can perform this well enough. His discourse is 
the news that he hath gathered in his walk, 
and for other matters his discretion is, that he 
will only what he can, that is, say nothing. His 
life is like one that runs to the 9 church-walk, 
to take a turn or two, and so passes. He hath 
staid in the world to fill a number ; and when 
he is gone, there wants one, and there's an end. 



A Church-Papist 
Is one that parts his religion betwixt his con- 
science and his purse, and comes to church not 
to serve God but the king. The face of the law 
makes him wear the mask of the gospel, which 

9 Minster-walk, 1st edit. 



30 

he uses not as a means to save his soul, but 
charges. He loves Popery well, but is loth to 
lose by it ; and though he be something scared 
with the bulls of Rome, yet they are far off, 
and he is struck with more terror at the appa- 
ritor. Once a month he presents himself at the 
church, to keep off the church-warden, and 
brings in his body to save his bail. He kneels 
with the congregation, but prays by himself, 
and asks God forgiveness for coming thither. 
If he be forced to stay out a sermon, he pulls his 
hat over his eyes, and frowns out the hour; 
and when he comes home, thinks to make 
amends for this fault by abusing the preacher. 
His main policy is to shift off the communion, 
for which he is never unfurnished of a quarrel, 
and will be sure to be out of charity at Easter. ; 
and indeed he lies not, for he has a quarrel to 
the sacrament. He would make a bad martyr 
and good traveller, for his conscience is so 
large he could never wander out of it; and in 



31 

Constantinople would be circumcised with a 
reservation. His wife is more zealous and 
therefore more costly, and he bates her in tires IO 
what she stands him in religion. But we leave 
him hatching plots against the state, and ex- 
pecting Spinola 1 . 

!o The word tire is probably here used as an abbrevi- 
ation of the word attire, dress, ornament. 

1 Ambrose Spinola was one of the most celebrated and 
excellent commanders that Spain ever possessed : he 
was born, in 1569, of a noble family, and distinguished 
himself through life in being opposed to prince Maurice 
of Nassau, the greatest general of his age, by whom he 
was ever regarded with admiration and respect. He died 
in 1630, owing to a disadvantage sustained by his 
troops at the siege of Cassel, which was to be entirely at- 
tributed to the imprudent orders he received from Spain, 
and which that government compelled him to obey. This 
disaster broke his heart; and he died with the exclamation 
of " they have robbed me of my honour ;" an idea he was 

f^*)le to survive. \Jt is probable that, at the time this 
aracter was composed, many of the disaffected in 
England were in expectation of an attack to be made 
on this country by the Spaniards, under the command 
of Spinola. 



32 



XL 

A self-conceited man 
Is one that knows himself so well, that he 
does not know himself. Two excellent well- 
dones have undone him, and he is guilty of it 
that first commended him to madness. He is 
now become his own book, which he pores on 
continually, yet like a truant reader skips over 
the harsh places, and surveys only that which 
is pleasant. In the speculation of his own good 
parts, his eyes, like a drunkard's, see all double, 
and his fancy, like an old man's spectacles, 
make a great letter in a small print. He ima- 
gines every place where he comes his theater, 
and not a look stirring but his spectator ; and 
conceives men's thoughts to be very idle, that 
is, [only] busy about him. His walk is still 
in the fashion of a march, and like his opinion 
unaccompanied, with his eyes most fixed upon 
his own person, or on others with reflection to 



S3 

himself. If he have done any thing that has 
past with applause, he is always re-acting it 
alone, and conceits the extasy his hearers were 
in at every period. His discourse is all po- 
sitions and definitive decrees, with thus it must 
be and thus it is, and he will not humble his 
authority to prove it. His tenent is always 
singular and aloof from the vulgar as he can, 
from which you must not hope to wrest him. 
He has an excellent humour for an heretick, 
and in these days made the first Arminian. He 
prefers Ramus before Aristotle, and Paracelsus 
before Galen, 2 [and whosoever with most pa- 
radox is commended.'] He much pities the 
world that has no more insight in his parts, 
when he is too well discovered even to this 
very thought. A flatterer is a dunce to him, 
for he can tell him nothing but what he knows 



s and Lipsius his hopping stile before either* Tul 
Quintilian. First edit. 



34 

before : and yet he loves him too, because he is 
like himself. Men are merciful to him, and 
let him alone, for if he be once driven from his 
humour, he is like two inward friends fallen 
out : his own bitter enemy and discontent pre- 
sently makes a murder. In sum, he is a blad- 
der blown up with wind, which the least flaw 
crushes to nothing. 



XII. 

A too idly reserved man 
Is one that is a fool with discretion, or a 
strange piece of politician, that manages the 
state of himself. His actions are his privy- 
council, wherein no man must partake beside. 
He speaks under rule and prescription, and 
dare not shew his teeth without Machiavel. He 
converses with his neighbours as he would 



35 

in Spain, and fears an inquisitive man as 
much as the inquisition. He suspects all 
questions for examinations, and thinks you 
would pick something out of him, and avoids 
you. His breast is like a gentlewoman's closet, 
which locks up every toy or trifle, or some 
bragging mountebank that makes every 
stinking thing a secret. He delivers you com- 
mon matters with great conjuration of silence, 
and whispers you in the ear acts of parliament. 
You may as soon wrest a tooth from him as a 
paper, and whatsoever he reads is letters. He 
dares not talk of great men for fear of bad 
comments, and he knows not how his words may 
be misapplied. Ask his opinion, and he tells 
you his doubt ; and he never hears any thing 
more astonishedly than what he knows before. 
His words are like the cards at primivist 3 , 



3 Primivist and primero were, in all probability, the 
same game, although Minshew, in his Dictionary, 

D 2 



36 

where 6 is 18, and 7, 21 ; for they never signify 
what they sound ; but if he tell you he will do 



calls them ** two games at cardes." The latter he ex- 
plains, " primum et primum visum, that is, first and 
first seene, because hee that can shew such an order of 
cardes, first winnes the game." The coincidence be- 
tween Mr. Strutt's description of the former and the 
passage in the text, shews that there could be little or 
no difference between the value of the cards in these 
games, or in the manner of playing them. u Each player 
had four cards dealt to him, one by one, the seven was 
the highest card, in point of number, that he could avail 
himself of, which counted for tzcenty-one, the six counted 
for sixteen, the five for fifteen, and the ace for the same/' 
&c. (Sports and Pastimes, 247.) The honourable Daines 
Barrington conceived that Primero was introduced by 
Philip the Second, or some of his suite, whilst in En- 
gland. Shakspeare proves that it was played in the 
royal circle. 

" I left him (Henry VIII.) at Primero 

With the duke of Suffolk." 

Henry VIII. 
So Decker : " Talke of none but lords and such ladies 
with whom you have plaid at Primero." — Gul's Horne- 
booke, 1609. 37. 

Among the marquis of Worcester's celebrated " Cen- 
tury of Inventions," 12mo. 1663, is one " so contrived 



37 

a thing, it is as much as if he swore he would 
not. He is one, indeed, that takes all men to 
be craftier than they are, and puts himself 
to a great deal of affliction to hinder their plots 
and designs, where they mean freely. He has 
been long a riddle himself, but at last finds 
CEdipuses ; for his over-acted dissimulation 
discovers him, and men do with him as they 
would with Hebrew letters, spell him back* 
wards and read him* 



XIII. 

A tavern 
Is a degree, or (if you willj) a pair of stairs 



without suspicion, that playing at Primero at cards, 
one may, without clogging his memory, keep reckoning 
of all sixes, sevens, and aoes, which he hath discarded/' 

—No. 87. 



38 

.above an ale-house, where men are drunk with 
more credit and apology. If the vintner's nose 4 
be at door, it is a sign sufficient, but the ab- 
sence of this is supplied by the ivy-bush : the 
rooms are ill breathed like the drinkers that 
have been washed well over night, and are 
smelt-to fasting next morning; not furnished 
with beds apt to be defiled, but more necessary 
implements, stools, table, and a chamber-pot. 
It is a broacher of more news than hogsheads, 
and more jests than news, which are sucked up 
here by some spungy brain, and from thence 
squeezed into a comedy. Men come here to make 
merry, but indeed make a noise, and this mu- 
sick above is answered with the clinking below. 
The drawers are the civilest people in it, men of 
good bringing up, and howsoever we esteem of 



+ " Enquire out those tauernes which are best cus- 
tomd, whose maisters arc oftenest drunk, for that con- 
tinues their taste, and that they choose wholesome 
svines." — Decker's Gul's llome-booke,1609. 






39 

them, none can boast more justly of their high 
calling. 'Tis the best theater of natures, where 
they are truly acted, not played, and the busi- 
ness as in the rest of the world up and down, 
to wit, from the bottom of the cellar to the great 
chamber. A melancholy man would find here 
matter to work upon, to see heads as brittle as 
glasses, and often broken ; men come hither to 
quarrel, and come hilher to be made friends : 
and if Plutarch will lend me his simile, it is even 
Telephus's sword that makes wounds and cures 
them. It is the common consumption of the 
afternoon, and the murderer or maker-away of 
a rainy day. It is the torrid zone that scorches 
the s face, and tobacco the gun-powder that 
blows it up. Much harm would be done, if the 
charitable vintner had not water ready for these 
flames. A house of sin you may call it, but 
not a house of darkness, for the candles are 

3 his, First edit- 



40 

never out ; and it is like those countries far itf 
the North, where it is as clear at mid-night as 
at mid-day. After a long sitting, it becomes 
like a street in a dashing shower, where the 
spouts are flushing above, and the conduits run- 
ning below, while the Jordans like swelling 
rivers overflow their banks. To give you the 
total reckoning of it ; it is the busy man's re- 
creation, the idle man's business, the melancho- 
ly man's sanctuary, the stranger's welcome, the 
inns-of-court man's entertainment, the scholar's 
kindness, and the citizen's courtesy. It is the 
study of sparkling wits, and a cup of canary * 
their book, whence we leave them. 



6 The editor of the edition in 1732, has altered canary 
to " sherry? tor what reason I am at a loss to discover, 
and have consequently restored the reading of the first 
edition. Vernier gives the following description of this 
favourite liquor. " Canarie-wine, which beareth the 
name of the islands from whence it is brought, is of 
some termed a sacke, with this adjunct, sweete; but 
\et very improperly, for it differeth not only from sacke 



4i 



XIV. 



A shark 
Is one whom all other means have failed 9 
and he now lives of himself. He is some needy 



in sweetness and pleasantness of taste, but also in co- 
lour and consistence, for it is not so white in colour as 
sack, nor so thin in substance ; wherefore it is more 
nutritive than sack, and less penetrative." Via recta ad 
Vitam Ion gam. 4to. 1622. In Howell's time, Canary 
wine was much adulterated. " I think," says he, in one 
of his Letters, " there is more Canary brought into En- 
gland than to all the world besides; I think also, there 
is a hundred times more drunk under the name of Ca- 
nary wine, than there is brought in ; for Sherries and 
Malagas, well mingled, pass for Canaries in most ta- 
verns. When Sacks and Canaries, 1 ' he continues," were 
brought in first amongst us, they were used to be drunk 
in aqua vitas measures, and 'twas held fit only for those 
to drink who were used to carry their legs in their hands, 
their et/es upon their noses, and an ahnanack in their hones ; 
but now they go down every one's throat, both young 
and old, like milk." Howell,' Letter to the lord Cliff, 
dated Oct. 7, 1634. 



42 

cashiered fellow, whom the world hath oft flung 
off, yet still clasps again, and is like one a 
drowning, fastens upon any thing that is next 
at hand. Amongst other of his shipwrecks 
lie has happily lost shame, and this want sup- 
plies him. No man puts his brain to more use 
than he, for his life is a daily invention, and 
each meal a new stratagem. He has an excel- 
lent memory for his acquaintance, though there 
passed but how do you betwixt them seven 
years ago, it shall suffice for an embrace, and 
that for money. He offers you a pottle of sack 
out of joy to see you, and in requital of his 
courtesy you can do no less than pay for it. 
He is fumbling with his purse-strings, as a 
school-boy with his points, when he is going to 
be whipped, 'till the master, weary with long 
stay, forgives him. When the reckoning is 
paid, he says, It must not be so, yet is strait 
pacified, and cries, What remedy ? His bor- 
rowings are like subsidies, each man a shilling 



43 

or two, as he can well dispend ; which they 
lend him, not with a hope to be repaid, but 
that he will come no more. He holds a strange 
tyranny over men, for he is their debtor, and 
they fear him as a creditor. Pie is proud of 
any employment, though it be but to carry 
commendations, which he will be sure to deliver 
at eleven of the clock 7 . They in courtesy bid 
him stay, and he in manners cannot deny them 
If he find but a good look to assure his wel- 
come, he becomes their half-boarder, and 
haunts the threshold so long 'till he forces good 



* We learn from Harrison's Description of England, 
prefixed to Holinshed, that eleven o'clock was the usual 
time for dinner during the reign of Elizabeth. " With 
vs the nobilitie, gentrie, and students, doo ordinarilie go 
to dinner at eleuen before noone, and to supper at fiue, 
or between tiue and six at afternoone." (vol. i. page 
171. edit. 1587.) The alteration in manners at this 
time is rather singularly evinced, from a passage imme- 
diately following the above quotation, where we find 
that merchants and husbandmen dined and supped at a 
later hour than the nobility. 



44 

fiature to the necessity of a quarrel. Publicfc 
invitations he will not wrong with his absence, 
and is the best witness of the sheriff's hospita- 
lity 8 . Men shun him at length as they would 
do an infection, and he is never crossed in his 
way if there be but a lane to escape him. He 
has clone with the age as his clothes to him, 
hung on as long as he could, and at last drops 
off. 



8 Alluding to the public dinners given by the sherift 
at particular seasons of the year. So in The Widow, -a. co- 
medy, 4to. 1652. 

" And as at a sheriff's table, O blest custome ! 
A poor indebted gentleman may dine, 
Feed well, and without fear, and depart so." 



45 



XV. 

A carrier 
Is his own hackney-man ; for he lets himself 
-out to travel as well as his horses. He is the 
ordinary embassador between friend and friend, 
the father and the son, and brings rich presents 
to the one, but never returns any buck again. 
He is no unlettered man, though in shew sim- 
ple ; for questionless, he has much in his bud- 
get, which he can utter too in fit time and 
place. He is [like] the vault 9 in Gloster 



9 The chapel of the Virgin Mary, in the cathedral 
church of Gloucester, was founded hy Richard Stanley, 
abbot, in 1457, and finished by William Farley, a monk 
of the monastery, in 1472. Sir Robert Atkyns gives the 
following description of the vault he-- e alluded to. " The 
u- hisper in g place is very remarkable ; it is a long alley, 
from one side of the choir to the other, built circular, 
that it might not daiken the great east window of the 
choir. When a person whispers al one et-id of the alley, 
his voice is heard distinctly at the other end, though 
the passage be open in the middle, having large spaces 



46 

church, that conveys whispers at a distance, for 
he takes the sound out of your mouth at York, 
and makes it be heard as far as London. He 
is the young student's joy and expectation, and 
the most accepted guest, to whom they lend a 
willing hand to discharge him of his burden. 
His first greeting is commonly, Your friends 
are well; [and to prove if] I0 in a piece of gold 
delivers their blessing. You would think him 
a churlish blunt fellow, but they find in him 
many tokens of humanity. He is a great afflict- 
er of the high-ways, and beats them out of 
measure ; which injury is sometimes revenged 
by the purse-taker, and then the voyage mis- 
carries. No man domineers more in his inn, 

for doors and. windows on the east side. It may be im- 
puted to the close cement of the wall, which makes it 
as one entire stone, and so conveys the voice, as a long 
piece of timber does convey the least stroak to the other 
end. Others assign it to the repercussion of the voice 
from accidental angles." Atkyns Ancient and Present 
State of G hut er shire. Lorid. 1712, folio, page 128. See 
also Fullers Worl 'liies, in Gloucestershire, page35\. 
i° Then in a piece of gold, &>c. first edit. 



4? 

nor calls his host unreverently with more pre- 
sumption, and this arrogance proceeds out of 
the strength of his horses. He forgets not his 
load where he takes his ease, for he is drunk 
commonly before he goes to bed. He is like 
the prodigal child, still packing away and still 
returning again. But let him pass. 



XVI. 

A young man; 
He is now out of nature's protection, though 
not yet able to guide himself; but left loose to 
the world and fortune, from which the weak- 
ness of his childhood preserved him ; and now 
his strength exposes him. He is, indeed, just 
of age to be miserable, yet in his own con- 
ceit first begins to be happy; and he is happier 
in this imagination, and his misery not felt 



48 

is less. He sees yet but the outside of the 
world and men, and conceives them, according 
to their appearing, glister, and out of this igno- 
rance believes them. He pursues all vanities 
for happiness, and l [enjoys them best in this 
fancy.'] His reason serves, not to curb but un- 
derstand his appetite, and prosecute the motions 
thereof with a more eager earnestness. Him- 
self is his own temptation, and needs not Satan, 
and the world will come hereafter. He leaves 
repentance for grey hairs, and performs it in be- 
ing covetous. He is mingled with the vices 
of the age as the fashion and custom, with 
which he longs to be acquainted, and sins to 
better his understanding. He conceives his 
youth as the season of his lust, and the hour 
wherein he ought to be bad ; and because he 
would not lose his time, spends it. He distastes 
religion as a sad thing, and is six years elder for 

1 Whilst he has not yet got them, enjoys them, First edit. 



49 

a thought of heaven. He scorns and fears, and 
yet hopes for old age, but dare not imagine it 
with wrinkles. He loves and hates with the 
same inflammation, and when the heat is over 
is cool alike to friends and enemies. His friend- 
ship is seldom so stedfast, but (hat last, drink, 
or anger may overturn it. He offers you his 
blood to-day in kindness, and is ready to take 
yours to-morrow. He does seldom any thing 
which he wishes not to do again, and is only 
wise after a misfortune. He suffers much for his 
knowledge, and a great deal of folly it is makes 
him a wise man. He is free from many vices, 
by being not grown to the performance, and is 
only more vertuous out of weakness. Every 
action is his danger, and every man his am- 
bush. He is a ship without pilot or tackling, 
and only good fortune may steer him. If he 
scape this age, he has scaped a tempest, and 
may live to be a man. 



50 



XVII. 

An old college butler 
Is none of the worst students in the house, 
for he keeps the set hours at his book more duly 
than any. His authority is great over men's 
good names, which he charges many times with 
shrewd aspersions, which they hardly wipe off 
without payment. [His box and counters 
prove him to be a man of reckoning, yet] he is 
stricter in his accounts than a usurer, and deli- 
vers not a farthing without writing. He doubles 
the pains of Gollobelgicus % for his books go out 

<i Gallo-Belgicus was erroneously supposed, by the 
ingenious Mr. Reed, to be the " first news-paper pub- 
lished in England ;" we are, however, assured by the 
author of the " Life of Ruddiman," that it has no title 
to so honourable a distinction. Gallo-Belgicus appears 
to have been rather an Annual Register, or History of 
its own Times, than a newspaper. It was written in 



51 

once a quarter, and they are much in the same 
nature, brief notes and sums of affairs, and are 
out of request as soon. His comings in are like 
a taylor's, from the shreds of bread, [the] chip- 
pings and remnants of a broken crust; except- 
ing his vails from the barrel, which poor folks 
buy for their hogs but drink themselves. He 
divides an halfpenny loaf with more subtlety 
than Keckerman 3 , and sub-divides the a primo 



Latin, and entituled, "Mercurij Gallo-Belgici : site, 
rerum in Gallia, et Belgio potissimum : Hispania quoque, 
Italia, Anglia, Germania, Polonia, Vicinisque locis ab anno 
1588, ad Martium anni 1594, gestarum, Nuncij." The 
first volume was printed in 8vo. at Cologne, 1598 ; from 
which year, to about 1605, it was published annually; 
and from thence to the time of its conclusion, which 
is uncertain, it appeared in half-yearly volumes. Chal- 
mers' Life of Ruddi?nan, 1794, The great request in 
which newspapers were held at the publication of the 
present work, may be gathered from Burton, who, in 
his Anatomy of Melancholy, complains that " if any 
read now-a-days, it is a play-book, or a pamphlet of 
nevves." 

3 Bartholomew Keckerman was born at Dantzick, in 



52 

orlum so nicely, that a stomach of great capa- 
city can hardly apprehend it. He is a very sober 
man, considering his manifold temptations of 
drink and strangers ; and if he be overseen, 'tis 
within his own liberties, and no man ought to 
take exception. He is never so well pleased 
with his place as when a gentleman is beholden 
to him for shewing him the buttery, whom he 
greets with a cup of single beer and sliced man- 
chet 4 , and tells him it is the fashion of the Col- 



Prussia, 1571, and educated under Fabricius. Being 
eminently distinguished for his abilities and application, 
he was, in 1597, requested, by the senate of Dantzick, 
to take upon him the management of their academy; 
an honour he then declined, but accepted, on a second 
application, in 1601. Here he proposed to instruct his 
pupils in the complete science of philosophy in the 
short space of three years, and, for that purpose, drew 
up a great number of books upon logic, rhetoric, ethics, 
politics, physics, metaphysics, geography, astronomy, 
&c. &c. till, as it is said, literally worn out with scho- 
lastic drudgery, he died at the early age of 38. 

4 Of bread made of wheat we have sundrie sorts dailie 
brought to the tabic, whereof the first and most excel- 



53 

lege. He domineers over freshmen when they 
first come to the hatch, and puzzles them with 
strange language of cues and cees, and some 
broken Latin which he has learnt at his bin. 
His faculties extraordinary is the warming of a 
pair of cards, and telling out a dozen of counters 
for post and pair, and no man is more methodi- 
cal in these businesses. Thus he spends his 
age till the tap of it is run out, and then a fresh 
one is set abroach. 



XVIII. 

An upstart country knight 
[Is a holiday clown, and differs only in the 
stuff of his clothes, not the stuff of himself 5 ,"] 



lent is the mainchet, which we commonlie call white 
bread. Harrison, Description of England prefixed to 
Holinshed, chap. 6. 

5 His honour was somewhat preposterous, for he bare, &c. 
first edit. 



54 

for he bare the king's sword before he had arms 
to wield it ; yet being once laid o'er the shoul- 
der with a knighthood, he finds the herald his 
friend. His father was a man of good stock, 
though but a tanner or usurer ; he purchased 
the land, and his son the title. He has doffed 
off the name of a [ 6 country fellow y ~] but the 
look not so easy, and his face still bears a relish 
of churnc-milk. He is guarded with more gold 
lace than all the gentlemen of the country, yet 
his body makes his clothes still out of fashion. 
His house-keeping is seen much in the distinct 
families of dogs, and serving-men attendant on 
their kennels, and the deepness of their throats 
is the depth of his discourse. A hawk he es- 
teems the true burden of nobility 7 , and is 



6 Clown, first edit. 

7 The art of hawking has been so frequently and so 
fully explained, that it would be superfluous, if not ar- 
rogant, to trace its progress, or delineate its history, in 
this place. In the earliest periods it appears to have 
been exclusively practised by the nobility; and, indeed, 
the great expense at which the amusement was sup- 



55 

exceeding ambitious to seem delighted in the 
sport, and have his fist gloved with his jesses 8 . 



ported, seems to have been a sufficient reason for de- 
terring persons of more moderate income, and of infe- 
rior rank, from indulging in the pursuit. In the Sports 
and Pastimes of Mr. Strutt, a variety of instances are 
given of the importance attached to the office of falconer, 
and of the immense value of, and high estimation the 
birds themselves were held in from the commencement 
of the Norman government, down to the reign of 
James I. in which sir Thomas Monson gave 1000/. for 
a cast of hawks, which consisted of only two. 

The great increase of wealth, and the consequent 
equalization of property in this country, about the reign 
of Elizabeth, induced many of inferior birth to practise 
the amusements of their superiors, which they did with- 
out regard to expense, or indeed propriety. Sir Thomas 
Elyot, in his Gcvernour (1580), complains that the fal- 
kons of his day consumed so much poultry, that, in a 
few years, he feared there would be a great scarcity of it. 
" I speake not this," says he, " in disprayse of the 
faukons, but of them which keepeth them lyke cock- 
ney es." A reproof, there can be no doubt, applicable 
to the character in the text. 

8 A term in hawking, signifying the short straps of 
leather which are fastened to the hawk's legs, by which 
she is held on the fist, or joined to the leash. They 



56 

A justice of peace be is to domineer in his pa- 
rish, and do his neighbour wrong with more 
right 9 . He will be drunk with his hunters for 
company, and stain his gentility with droppings 
of ale. He is fearful of being sheriff of the 
shire by instinct, and dreads the assize-week as 
much as the prisoner. In sum, he's but a clod 
of his own earth, or his land is the dunghill 
and he the cock that crows over it : and com- 
monly his race is quickly run, and his chil- 
dren's children, though they scape hanging, 
return to the place from whence they came. 

were sometimes made of silk, as appears from If The 
Boke of hawkynge, hunlynge, and fysshynge, with all 

lite propcrltjes and medccync; that are nccessaryc to be 
kepte : " Ilawkes hauc aboute theyr legges gcsscs made 
of lether most comonly, some of sylke, which shuld be 
no lengcr but that the knottes of them shulde appere in 
the myddes of the lefte hande," &c. Juliana Barnes. 
(dit. 4to. u Jmprynted at London in Pouls chyrchyarde 
iy /,/( Hery Tab." sig. C. ii. 

9 This authority of his is that clubwhkh kenpsthemm 
m his dogs hereafter. First edit. 



57 



XIX. 

An idle gallant 
Is one that was born and shaped for his 
cloaths; and, if Adam had not fallen, had lived 
to, no purpose. He gratulates therefore the 
first sin, and fig-leaves that were an occasion 
of [his] bravery. His first care is his dress, 
the next his body, and in the uniting of these 
two lies his soul and its faculties. He observes 
London trulier then the terms, and his business 
is the street, the stage, the court, and those 
places where a proper man is best shown. If 
he be qualified in gaming extraordinary, he is 
so much the more genteel and compleat, and he 
learns the best oaths for the purpose. These 
are a great part of his discourse, and he is as 
curious in their newness as the fashion. His 
other talk is ladies and such pretty things, or 



58 

some jest at a play. His pick-tooth bears a 
great part in his discourse, so does his body, 
the upper parts whereof are as starched as his 
linnen, and perchance use the same laundress. 
He has learned to ruffle his face from his boot, 
and takes great delight in his walk to hear his 
spurs gingle. Though his life pass somewhat 
slidingly, yet he seems very careful of the 
time, for he is still drawing his watch out of his 
pocket, and spends part of his hours in num- 
bring them. He is one never serious but with 
his taylor, when he is in conspiracy for the 
next device. He is furnished with his jests, as 
some wanderer with sermons, some three for all 
congregations, one especially against the scho- 
lar, a man to him much ridiculous, whom he 
knows by no other definition, but a silly fellow 
in black. lie is a kind of walking mercer's 
shop, and shews you one stuff to-day and an- 
other to-morrow ; an ornament to the room he 
comes in as the fair bed and hangings be ; and 



59 

is nieerly ratable accordingly, fifty or an hun- 
dred pounds as his suit is. His main ambition 
is to get a knight-hood, and then an old lady, 
which if he be happy in, he fills the stage and 
a coach so much longer : Otherwise, himself 
and his cloaths grow stale together, and he is 
buried commonly ere he dies in the gaol, or the 
country , 



XX. 

A constable 
Is a vice-roy in the street, and no man stands 
more upon't that he is the king's officer. His 
jurisdiction extends to the next stocks, where 
he has commission for the heels only, and sets 
the rest of the body at liberty. He is a scare- 



60 

crow to that ale-house, where he drinks not his 
morning draught, and apprehends a drunkard 
for not standing in the king's name. Beggars 
fear him more than the justice, and as much as 
the whip-stock, whom he delivers over to his 
subordinate magistrates, the bridewell-man, and 
the beadle. He is a great stickler in the tu- 
mults of double jugs, and ventures his head by 
his place, which is broke many times to keep 
whole the peace. He is never so much in his 
majesty as in his night-watch, where he sits in 
his chair of state, a shop-stall, and invironed 
with a guard of halberts, examines all passengers. 
He is a very careful man in his office, but if he 
stay up after midnight you shall take him 
napping. 



61 



XXI. 

A down-right scholar 
Is one that has much learning in the ore, un- 
wrought and untried, which time and experi- 
ence fashions and refines. He is good metal in 
the inside, though rough and unscoured with- 
out, and therefore hated of the courtier, that is 
quite contrary. The time has got a vein of 
making him ridiculous, and men laugh at him 
by tradition, and no unlucky absurdity but is 
put upon his profession, and done like a scho- 
lar. But his fault is only this, that his mind is 
[somewhat] too much taken up with his mind, 
and his thoughts not loaden with any carriage 
besides. He has not put on the quaint garb of 
the age, which is now a man's [Imprimis and 
all the Item 10 .~\ He has not humbled his medi- 
tations to the industry of complement, nor af- 

10 Now become a man's total, first edit. 



62 

flicted his brain in an elaborate leg. His body 
is not set upon nice pins, to be turning and 
flexible for every motion, but his scrape is 
homely and his nod worse. He cannot kiss his 
hand and cry, madam, nor talk idle enough to 
bear her company. His smacking of a gentle- 
woman is somewhat too savory, and he mis- 
takes her nose for her lips. A very woodcock 
would puzzle him in carving, and he wants the 
logick of a capon. He has not the glib faculty 
of sliding over a tale, but his words come 
squeamishly out of his mouth, and the laugh- 
ter commonly before the jest. He names this 
word college too often, and his discourse beats 
too much on the university. The perplexity of 
mannerliness will not let him feed, and he is 
sharp set at an argument when lie should cut his 
meat. He is discarded for a gamester at all 
games but one and thirty', and at tables he 

1 Of the game called one and thirty, I am unable to 



63 

reaches not beyond doublets. His fingers are 
not long and drawn out to handle a fiddle, but 
his fist clunched with the habit of disputing. 
He ascends a horse somewhat sinisterly, though 
not on the left side, and they both go jogging 
in grief together. He is exceedingly censured 
by the inns-of-court men, for that heinous vice 
being out of fashion. He cannot speak to a 
dog in his own dialect, and understands Greek 
better than the language of a falconer. He has 
been used to a dark room, and dark cloaths, 
and his eyes dazzle at a sattin suit. The her- 
mitage of his study, has made him somewhat 
uncouth in the world, and men make him 
worse by staring on him. Thus is he [silly 
and] ridiculous, and it continues with him for 



find any mention in Mr. Strutt's Sports and Pastimes, 
nor is it alluded to in any of the old plays or tracts I 
have yet met with. A very satisfactory account of 
tables may be read in the interesting and valuable pub- 
lication just noticed. 



64 

some quarter of a year out of the university. 
But practise him a little in men, and brush him 
over with good company, and he shall out-bal- 
lance those glisterers, as far as a solid sub- 
stance docs a feather, or gold, gold-lace. 



XXII. 

A plain country fellow 
Is one that manures his ground well, but lets 
himself lye fallow and untilled. He has reason 
enough to do his business, and not enough to 
be idle or melancholy. He seems to have the 
punishment of Nebuchadnezzar , for his conver- 
sation is among beasts, and his tallons none of 
the shortest, only he cats not grass, because he 
loves not Ballets. His hand guides the plough, 



65 

and the plough his thoughts, and his ditch and 
land-mark is the very mound of his meditations. 
He expostulates with his oxen very understand- 
ingly, and speaks gee, and ree, better than 
English. His mind is not much distracted with 
objects, but if a good fat cow come in his way, 
he stands dumb and astonished, and though his 
haste be never so great, will fix here half an 
hour's contemplation. His habitation is some 
poor thatched roof, distinguished from his barn 
by the loop-holes that let out smoak, which the 
rain had long since washed through, but for the 
double ceiling of bacon on the inside, which 
has hung there from his grandsire's time, and 
is yet to make rashers for posterity. His din- 
ner is his other work, for he sweats at it as much 
as at his labour ; he is a terrible fastner on a 
piece of beef, and you may hope to stave the 
guard off sooner. His religion is a part of his 
copy-hold, which he takes from his land-lord, 
and refers it wholly to his discretion : Yet if he 



66 

give him leave he is a good Christian to his 
power, (that is,) comes to church in his best 
cloaths, and sits there with his neighbours, 
where he is capable only of two prayers, for 
rain, and fair weather. He apprehends God's 
blessings only in a good year, or a fat pasture, 
and never praises him but on good ground. 
Sunday he esteems a day to make merry in, and 
thinks a bag-pipe as essential to it as evening- 
prayer, where he walks very solemnly after 
service with his hands coupled behind him, 
and censures the dancing of his parish. [His 
compliment with his neighbour is a good thump 
on the back, and his salutation commonly some 
blunt curse.] He thinks nothing to be vices, 
but pride and ill husbandry, from which he 
will gravely dissuade the youth, and has some 
thrifty hob-nail proverbs to clout his dis- 
course. He is a niggard all the week, except 
only market-day, where, if his corn sell well, 
he thinks he may be drunk with a good con- 



67 

science. His feet never stink so unbecomingly 
as when he trots after a lawyer in Westminster- 
hall, and even cleaves the ground with hard 
scraping in beseeching his worship to take his 
money. He is sensible of no calamity but the 
burning a stack of corn or the overflowing of a 
meadow, and thinks Noah's flood the greatest 
plague that ever was, not because it drowned 
the world, but spoiled the grass. For death he 
is never troubled, and if he get in but his har- 
vest before, let it come when it will, he cares 
not. 



XXIII. 

A 'player. 
He knows the right use of the world, wherein 
J comes to play a part and so away. His life is 
j?2 



68 

not idle, for it is all action, and no man need be 
more wary in his doings, for the eyes of all men 
are upon him. His profession has in it a kind 
of contradiction, for none is more disliked, and 
yet none more applauded ; and he has the mis- 
fortune of some scholar, too much wit makes 
him a fool. He is like our painting gentle- 
women, seldom in his own face, seldomer in his 
cloaths ; and he pleases, the better he counter- 
feits, except only when he is disguised with 
straw for gold lace. He does not only person- 
ate on the stage, but sometimes in the street, 
for he is masked still in the habit of a gentle- 
man. His parts find him oaths and good words, 
which he keeps for his use and discourse, and 
makes shew with them of a fashionable com- 
panion. He is tragical on the stage, but ram- 
pant in the tiring-house 2 , and swears oaths 



2 The room where the performers dress, previous to 
coming on the stage. 






69 

there Which he never conned. The waiting 
women spectators are over-ears in love with 
him, and ladies send for him to act in their 
chambers. Your inns-of-court men were un- 
done but for him, he is their chief guest 
and employment, and the sole business that 
makes them afternoon's-men. The poet only is 
his tyrant, and he is bound to make his friend's 
friend drunk at his charge. Shroye-Tuesday 
he fears as much as the bauds, and Lent 3 is more 
damage to him than the butcher. He was never 
so much discredited as in one act, and that was 
of parliament, which gives hostlers priviledge 

3 This passage affords a proof of what has been 
doubted, namely, that the theatres were not permitted 
to be open during Lent, in the reign of James I. The 
restriction was waved in the next reign, as we find from 
the puritanical Prynne :— " There are none so much 
addicted to stage-playes, but when they goe unto places 
where they cannot have them, or when, as they are 
suppressed by publike authority, (as in times of pesti- 
lence, and in Lent, till now of late,) can well subsist 
without them," &c. Histrio-Mastix, 4to. Lond, 1633 a 
page 384. 



70 

before him, for which he abhors it more than 
a corrupt judge. But to give him his due, one 
well-furnished actor has enough in him for five 
common gentlemen, and, if he have a good body, 
[for six, and] for resolution he shall challenge 
any Cato, for it has been his practice to die 
bravely. 



XXIV. 

A detractor 
Is one of a more cunning and active envy, 
wherewith he gnaws not foolishly himself, but 
throws it abroad and would have it blister 
others. He is commonly some weak parted 
fellow, and worse minded, yet is strangely am- 
bitious to match others, not by mounting their 
worth, but bringing them down with his tongue 



71 

to his own poorness. He is indeed like the red 
dragon that pursued the woman, for when he 
cannot over-reach another, he opens his mouth 
and throws a flood after to drown him. You 
cannot anger him worse than to do well, and 
he hates you more bitterly for this, than if you 
had cheated him of his patrimony with your 
own discredit. He is always slighting the ge- 
neral opinion, and wondering why such and 
such men should be applauded. Commend a 
good divine, he cries postilling ; a philologer, 
pedantry ; a poet, rhiming ; a school-man, dull 
wrangling ; a sharp conceit, boyishness ; an 
honest man, plausibility. He comes to publick 
things not to learn, but to catch, and if there be 
but one solcecism, that is all he carries away. 
He looks on all things with a prepared sower- 
ness, and is still furnished with a pish before- 
hand, or some musty proverb that disrelishes all 
things whatsoever. If fear of the company 
make him second a commendation, it is like a 



n 

law-writ, always with a clause of exception, or 
to smooth his way to some greater scandal. 
He will grant you something, and bate more ; 
and this bating shall in conclusion take away all 
he granted. His speech concludes still with an 
Oh ! but, — and 1 could wish one thing amended ; 
and this one thing shall be enough to deface all 
his former commendations. He will be very 
inward with a man to fish some bad out of him, 
and make his slanders hereafter more authen- 
tick, when it is said a friend reported it. He will 
inveigle you to naughtiness to get your good 
name into his clutches; he will be your pandar 
to have you on the hip for a whore-master, and 
make you drunk to shew you reeling. He 
passes the more plausibly because all men have 
a smatch of his humour, and it is thought free- 
ness which is malice. If he can say nothing of 
a man, he will seem to speak riddles, as if he 
could tell strange stories if he would ; and 
when he has racked his invention to the utmost, 



73 

he ends ;— but I wish him well, and therefore 
must hold my peace. He is always listening 
and enquiring after men, and suffers not a 
cloak to pass by him unexamined. In brief, 
he is one that has lost all good himself, and is 
loth to find it in another. 



XXV. 

A young gentleman of the university 
Is one that comes there to wear a gown, and 
to say hereafter, he has been at the university. 
His father sent him thither because he heard 
there were the best fencing and dancing-schools ; 
from these he has his education, from his tutor 
the over-sight. The first element of his know- 
ledge is to be shewn the colleges, and initiated 
in a tavern by the way, which hereafter he will 



74 

will learn of himself. The two marks of his 
seniority, is the bare velvet of his gown, and his 
proficiency at tennis, where when he can once 
play a set, he is a fresh man no more. His 
study has commonly handsome shelves, his 
books neat silk strings, which he shews to his 
father's man, and is loth to unty 4 or take down 
for fear of misplacing. Upon foul days for 
recreation he retires thither, and looks over the 
pretty book his tutor reads to him, which is 
commonly some short history, or a piece of 
Euphormio; for which his tutor gives him 
money to spend next day. His main loytering 



4 Tt may not be known to those who are not accus- 
tomed to meet with old books in their original bindings, 
or of seeing public libraries of antiquity, that the 
volumes were formerly placed on the shelves with the 
leaves, not the back, in front ; and that the two sides of 
the binding were joined together with neat silk or other 
strings, and, in some instances, where the books were 
of greater value and curiosity than common, even fas- 
tened with gold or silver chains. 



75 

is at the library, where he studies arms and 
books of honour, and turns a gentleman critick 
in pedigrees. Of all things he endures not to 
be mistaken for a scholar, and hates a black 
suit though it be made of sattin. His com- 
panion is ordinarily some stale fellow, that has 
been notorious for an ingle to gold hatbands 5 , 
whom he admires at first, afterward scorns. If 
he have spirit or wit he may light of better 
company, and may learn some flashes of wit, 
which may do him knight's service in the 
country hereafter. But he is now gone to the 
inns-of-court, where he studies to forget what 
he learned before, his acquaintance and the 
fashion. 



5 A hanger-on to noblemen, vrho are distinguished at 
the university by gold tassels to their caps ; or in the 
language of the present day, a tuft-hunter. 



76 



XXVL 

A weak man 
Is a child at man's estate, one whom nature 
huddled up in haste, and left his best part un- 
finished. The rest of him is grown to be a 
man, only his brain stays behind. He is one 
that has not improved his first rudiments, nor 
attained any proficiency by his stay in the 
world : but we may speak of him yet as when 
he was in the bud, a good harmless nature, a 
well meaning mind 6 land no more.~\ It is his 
misery that he now wants a tutor, and is too old 
to have one. He is two steps above a fool, and 
a great many more below a wise man : yet the 
fool is oft given him, and by those whom he 
esteems most. Some tokens of him are, — he 

6 If he could order his intentions, first edit. 



77 

loves men better upon relation than experi- 
ence, for he is exceedingly enamoured of 
strangers, and none quicklier a weary of his 
friend. He charges you at first meeting with 
all his secrets, and on better acquaintance grows 
more reserved. Indeed he is one that mistakes 
much his abusers for friends, and his friends 
for enemies, and he apprehends your hate in 
nothing so much as in good council. One that 
is flexible with any thing but reason, and then 
only perverse. [A servant to every tale and 
flatterer, and whom the last man still works 
over.] A great afFecter of wits and such pretti- 
nesses ; and his company is costly to him, for he 
seldom has it but invited. His friendship com- 
monly is begun in a supper, and lost in lending 
money. The tavern is a dangerous place to 
him, for to drink and be drunk is with him all 
one, and his brain is sooner quenched than his 
thirst. He is drawn into naughtiness with 
company, but suffers alone, and the bastard 



78 

commonly laid to his charge. One that will be 
patiently abused, and take exception a month 
after when he understands it, and then be abused 
again into a reconcilement; and you cannot 
endear him more than by cozening him, and it 
is a temptation to those that would not. One 
discoverable in all silliness to all men but him- 
self, and you may take any man's knowledge 
of him better than his own. He will promise 
the same thing to twenty, and rather than deny 
one break with all. One that has no power 
over himself, over his business, over his friends, 
but a prey and pity to all ; and if his fortunes 
once sink, men quickly cry, Alas ! — and forget 
him. 



79 



XXVII. 

A tobacco-seller 
Is the only man that finds good in it which 
others brag of but do not ; for it is meat, drink, 
and clothes to him. No man opens his ware 
with greater seriousness, or challenges your 
judgment more in the approbation. His shop 
is the rendezvous of spitting, where men dia- 
logue with their noses, and their communica- 
tion is smoak 7 . It is the place only where 
Spain is commended and preferred before 
England itself. He should be well experienced 
in the world, for he has daily trial of men's nos- 
trils, and none is better acquainted with hu- 
mours. He is the piecing commonly of some 



7 Minshew calls a tobacconist/ttmi-tfewtfw/tts, a stnoak- 
seller, 



80 

other trade, which is bawd to his tobacco, and 
that to his wife, which is the flame that follows 
this sraoak. 



XXVIII. 

A pot'poet 
Is the dregs of wit, yet mingled with good 
drink may have some relish. His inspirations 
are more real than others, for they do but feign 
a God, but he has his by him. His verse runs 
like the tap, and his invention as the barrel, 
ebbs and flows at the mercy of the spiggot. In 
thin drink he aspires not above a ballad, but a 
cup of sack inflames him, and sets his muse and 
nose a-fire together. The press is his mint, and 
stamps him now and then a six-pence or two in 
reward of the baser coin his pamphlet. His 



si 

works would scarce sell for three half-pence, 
though they are given oft for three shillings, 
but for the pretty title that allures the country 
gentleman; for which the printer maintains 
him in ale a fortnight. His verses are like his 
clothes miserable centoes 8 and patches, yet their 
pace is not altogether so hobbling as an alma* 
nack's. The death of a great man or the burn- 
ing 9 of a house furnish him with an argument, 
and the nine muses are out strait in mourning 
gowns, and Melpomene cries fire ! fire ! [His 
other poems are but briefs in rhime, and like 
the poor Greeks collections to redeem from cap^ 
tivity.] He is a man now much employed in 
commendations of our navy, and a bitter in- 
veigher against the Spaniard. His frequentest 

8 Cento, a composition formed by joining scraps 
from other authors. Johnson. Camden, in his Re- 
mains, uses it in the same sense. " It is quilted, as it 
were, out of shreds of divers poets, such as scholars 
call a cento." 

9 Firing, first edit. 



82 

works go out in single sheets, and are chanted 
from market to market to a vile tunc and a 
worse throat ; whilst the poor country wench 
melts like her butter to hear them. And these 
are the stories of some men of Tyburn, or a 
strange monster out of Germany I0 ; or, sitting 

10 In the hope of discovering some account of the 
strange monster alluded to, I have looked through one 
of the largest and most curious collections of tracts, re- 
lating to the marvellous, perhaps in existence. That 
bequeathed to the Bodleian, by Robert Burton, the au- 
thor of the Anatomy of Melancholy. Hitherto my re- 
searches have been unattended with success, as I have 
found only two tracts of this description relating to 
Germany, both of which are in prose, and neither 
giving any account of a monster. 

1. A most true Relation of a very dreadful! Earth' 
quake, with the lamentable Effect es thereof, which began 
vpon the 8. of December 1612. and yet coniinuelh most 
fe are full in Munster in Germanic. Rcade and Tremble. 
Translated out of Dutch, by Charles Demetrius, Publike 
Not uric in London, and printed at Rotter dame, in Hol- 
land, at the S\gne of the White Gray-hound. (Date cut 
off. Twenty-six pages, 4 to. with a wood-cut.) 

Q. Miraculous Newes from the Oil tie of Holt, in the 
I. ordi hip of Munster, in Germany, the twentieth of Sep- 



83 

in a bawdy-house, he writes God's judgments * 
He drops away at last in some obscure painted 
cloth, to which himself made the verses 1 , and 
his life, like a cann too full, spills upon the 
bench. He leaves twenty shillings on the score, 
which my hostess loses. 



t ember last past, 1616. where there were plainly beheld 
three dead bodyes rise out of their Graues admonishing the 
people of Iudgements to come. Faithfully translated (fyc* 
Sj-c.) London, Printed for lohn Barnes, dwelling in Hosic 
Lane neere Smithfield, 1616. (4to, twenty pages, 
wood-cut.) 

1 It was customary to work or paint proverbs, moral 
sentences, or scraps of verse, on old tapestry hangings, 
which were called painted cloths. Several allusions to 
this practice may be found in the works of our early 
English dramatists. See Reed's Shakspeare f viii. 103; 



Cg 



84 



XXIX. 

A plausible man 
Is one tiiat would fain run an even path in 
the world, and jut against no man. His en- 
deavour is not to offend, and his aim the gene- 
ral opinion. His conversation is a kind of con- 
tinued compliment, and his life a practice of 
manners. The relation he bears to others, a 
kind of fashionable respect, not friendship but 
friendliness, which is equal to all and general, 
and his kindnesses seldom exceed courtesies. 
He loves not deeper mutualities, because he 
would not take sides, nor hazard himself on 
displeasures, which he principally avoids. At 
your first acquaintance with him he is exceed- 
ing kind and friendly, and at your twentietli 
meeting after but friendly still. He has an ex- 
cellent command over his patience and tongue, 
•specially the last, which he accommodates 



85 

always to the times and persons, and speaks 
seldom what is sincere, but what is civil. He 
is one that uses all companies, drinks all healths, 
and is reasonable cool in all religions. [He 
considers who are friends to the company, and 
speaks well where he is sure to hear' of it 
again.] He can listen to a foolish discourse 
with an applausive attention, and conceal his 
laughter at nonsense. Silly men much ho- 
nour and esteem him, because by his fair rea- 
soning with them as with men of understand- 
ing, he puts them into an erroneous opinion of 
themselves, and makes them forwarder here- 
after to their own discovery. He is one rather 
well z thought on than beloved, and that love 
he has is more of whole companies together 
than any one in particular. Men gratify him 
notwithstanding with a good report, and what- 
ever vices he has besides, yet having no ene- 
mies, he is sure to be an honest fellow. 

2 Better, first edit. 



86 



XXX. 

A bov&l-alley 
Is the place where there are three things 
thrown away beside bowls, to wit, time, money, 
and curses, and the last ten for one. The best 
sport in it is the gamesters, and he enjoys it 
that looks on and bets not. It is the school of 
wrangling, and worse than the schools, for 
men will cavil here for a hair's breadth, and 
make a stir where a straw would end the con- 
troversy. No antick screws men's bodies into 
such strange flexures, and you would think 
them here senseless, to speak sense to their 
bowl, and put their trust in intreaties for a 
good cast. The betters are the factious noise 
of the alley, or the gamesters beadsmen that 
pray for them. They are somewhat like those 
that are cheated by great men, for they lose 



87 

their money and must say nothing. It is the 
best discovery of humours, especially in the 
losers, -where you have fine variety of impa- 
tience, whilst some fret, some rail, some swear, 
and others more ridiculously comfort themselves 
with philosophy. To give you the moral of 
it; it is the emblem of the world, or the world's 
ambition: where most are short, or over, or 
wide or wrong- biassed, and some few justle in 
to the mistress fortune. And it is here as in the 
court, where the nearest are most spited, and 
all blows aimed at the toucher. 



XXXI. 

The world's wise man 
Is an able and sufficient wicked man : It is a 
proof of his sufficiency that he is not called 



88 

wicked, but wise. A man wholly determined 
in himself and his own ends, and his instru- 
ments herein any thing that will do it. His 
friends are a part of his engines, and as they 
serve to his works, used or laid by : Indeed he 
knows not this thing of friend, but if he give 
you the name, it is a sign he has a plot on you. 
Never more active in his businesses, than when 
when they are mixed with some harm to others ; 
and it is his best play in this game to strike off 
and lie in the place : Successful commonly in 
these undertakings, because he passes smoothly 
those rubs which others stumble at, as con- 
science and the like ; and gratulates himself 
much in this advantage. Oaths and falshood 
he counts the nearest way, and loves not by any 
means to go about. He has many fine quips at 
this folly of plain dealing, but his "tush!" is 
greatest at religion ; yet he uses this too, and 
virtue and good words, but is less dangerously a 
devil than a saint. He ascribes all honesty to an 



89 

tmpractisedness in the world, and conscience a 
thing merely for children. He scorns all that 
are so silly to trust 3 him, and only not scorns 
his enemy, especially if as bad as himself: he 
fears him as a man well armed and provided, 
but sets boldly on good natures, as the most 
vanquishable. One that seriously admires 
those worst princes, as Sforza, Borgia, and 
Richard the third ; and calls matters of deep 
villany things of difficulty. To whom murders 
are but resolute acts, and treason a business of 
great consequence. One whom two or three 
countries make up to this compleatness, and he 
has travelled for the purpose. His deepest in- 
dearment is a communication of mischief, and 
then only you have him fast. His con- 
clusion is commonly one of these two, either a 
great man, or hanged. 

3 Hate, first edit. 



90 



'4r * 



XXXII. ^ 

A surgeon 
Is one that has some business about this 
building or little house of man, whereof nature 
is as it were the tiler, and he the plaisterer. 
It is ofter out of reparations than an old parson- 
age, and then he is set on work to patch it 
again. He deals most with broken commo- 
dities, as a broken head or a mangled face, and 
his gains are very ill got, for he lives by the 
hurts of the commonwealth. He differs from a 
physician as a sore does from a disease, or the 
sick from those that are not whole, the one dis- 
tempers you within, the other blisters you with- 
out. He complains of the decay of valour in 
these days, and sighs for that slashing age of 
sword and buckler ; and thinks the law against 
duels was made meerly to wound his vocation. 



91 

He had been long since undone if the charity 
of the stews ha£ not relieved hira v from whom 
he has his tribute as duly as the pope ; or a 
wind-fall sometimes from a tavern, if a quart 
pot hit right. The rareness of his custom 
makes him pitiless when it comes, and he holds a 
patient longerthanour [spiritual] courts acause. 
He tells you what danger you had been in if he 
had staid but a minute longer, and though it 
be but a pricked ringer, he makes of it much 
matter. He is a reasonable cleanly man, con- 
sidering the scabs he has to deal with, and your 
finest ladies are now and then beholden to him 
for their best dressings. He curses old gentle- 
women and their charity that makes his trade 
their alms; but his envy is never stirred so 
much as when gentlemen go over to fight upon 
Calais sands 4 , whom he wishes drowned e'er 

4 Calais sands were chosen by English duellists to de- 
cide their quarrels on, as being out of the jurisdiction of 
the law. This custom is noticed in an Epigram writ- 



92 



they come there, rather than the French shall 
get his custom. 



ten about the period in which this hook first ap- 
peared. 

u When boasting Bembus challeng'd is to fight, 
He seemes at first a very Diuell in sight : 
Till more aduizde, will not defile [his] hands, 
Vnlesseyou meete him vpon Callice sands." 

The Mastive or Young Whelpe of the olde Dog. Epigrams 
and Satyrs. 4to. Lond. (Printed, as Warton supposes, 
about 1600.) 

A passage in The Beau's Duel : or a Soldier for the La- 
dies, a comedy, by Mrs. Centlivre, 4to. 1707, proves, 
that it existed so late as at that day. " Your only way 
is to send him word you'll meet him on Calais sands ; 
duelling is unsafe in England for men of estates," &c. 
See also other instances in Dodsley's Old Plays, edit. 
1780. vii. 218.— xii. 412. 



93 



XXXIII. 

A contemplative man 
Is a scholar in this great university the world ; 
and the same his book and study. He cloysters 
not his meditations in the narrow darkness of a 
room, but sends them abroad with his eyes, 
and his brain travels with his feet. He looks 
upon man from a high tower, and sees him 
trulier at this distance in his infirmities and 
poorness. Pie scorns to mix himself in men's 
actions, as he would to act upon a stage ; but 
sits aloft on the scaffold a censuring spectator. 
[He will not lose his time by being busy, or 
make so poor a use of the world as to hug and 
embrace it.] Nature admits him as a partaker 
of her sports, and asks his approbation as it 
were of her own works and variety. He comes 
not in company, because he would not be so- 



94 

litary, but finds discourse enough with himself, 
and his own thoughts are his excellent play- 
fellows. He looks not upon a thing as a yawn- 
ing stranger at novelties, but his search is more 
mysterious and inward, and he spells heaven 
out of earth. He knits his observations toge- 
ther, and makes a ladder of them all to climb 
to God. He is free from vice, because he has 
no occasion to imploy it, and is above those 
ends that make man wicked. He has learnt all 
can here be taught him, and comes now to hea- 
ven to see more. 



XXXIV. 



A she precise hypocrite 
Is one in whom good women suffer, and have 
their truth misinterpreted by her folly. She is 



95 

one, she knows not what her self if you ask her, 
but she is indeed one that has taken a toy at the 
fashion of religion, and is enamoured of the 
new fangle. She is a nonconformist in a close 
stomacher and ruff of Geneva print 5 , and her 
purity consists much in her linnen. She has 



5 Strict devotees were, I believe, noted for the small- 
ness and precision of their ruffs, which were termed in 
print from the exactness of the folds. So in Mynshul's 
Essays, 4to. 1618. " I vndertooke a warre when I ad- 
uentured to speake in print, (not in print as Puritan's 
ruffes are set.)" The term of Geneva print probably 
arose from the minuteness of the type used at Geneva. 
In the Merry Devil of Edmonton, a comedy, 4to. 1608, 
is an expression which goes some way to prove the cor- 
rectness of this supposition r — " I see by thy eyes thou 
hast bin reading little Geneua print ;" — and, that small 
ruffs were worn by the puritanical set, an instance ap- 
pears in Mayne's City Match, a comedy, 4to. 1658. 

" O miracle ! 

Out of your little ruffe, Dorcas, and in the fashion ! 
Dost thou hope to be saved?" 

From these three extracts it is, I think, clear that a 
ruff of Geneva print meant a small, closely-folded ruff, 
which was the distinction of a non-conformist. 



96 

heard of the rag of Rome, and thinks it a very 
sluttish religion, and rails at the whore of Baby- 
lon for a very naughty woman. She has left 
her virginity as a relick of popery, and marries 
in her tribe without a ring. Her devotion at 
the church is much in the turning Up of her eye ; 
and turning down the leaf in her book, when 
she hears named chapter and verse. When 
she comes home, she commends the sermon for 
the scripture, and two hours. She loves 
preaching better then praying, and of preach* 
ers, lecturers ; and thinks the week day's exer- 
cise far more edifying than the Sunday's. Her 
oftest gossipings are sabbath-day's journeys, 
where, (though an enemy to superstition,) she 
will go in pilgrimage five mile to a silenced 
minister, when there is a better sermon in her 
own parish. She doubts of the virgin Mary's 
salvation, and dares not saint her, but knows 
her own place in heaven as perfectly as the pew 
she has a key to. She is so taken up with faith 



97 

she has no room for charity, and understands 
no good works but what are wrought on the 
sampler. She accounts nothing vices bat su- 
perstition and an oath, and thinks adultery a 
less sin than to swear by my truly. She rails at 
other women by the names of Jezebel and Da- 
lilah; and calls her own daughters Rebecca 
and Abigail, and not Ann but Hannah. She 
suffers them not to learn on the virginals 6 , be- 
cause of their affinity with organs, but is re- 
conciled to the bells for the chimes sake, since 
they were reformed to the tune of a psalm. 
She overflows so with the bible, that she spills 
it upon every occasion, and will not cudgel her 
maids without scripture. It is a question whe- 
ther she is more troubled with the Devil, or the 
Devil with her : She is always challenging and 



6 A virginal, says Mr. Malone, was strung like a 
spinnet, and shaped like a piano-forte : the mode of 
playing on this instrument was therefore similar to that 
of the organ, 

H 



98 

daring him, and her weapon [ 7 /s The Practice 
of Piety. ~\ Nothing angers her so much as 
that women cannot preach, and in this point 
only thinks the Brownist erroneous ; but what 
she cannot at the church she does at the table, 
where she prattles more than any against sense 
and Antichrist, 'till a capon's wing silence her. 
She expounds the priests of Baal, reading 
ministers, and thinks the salvation of that pa- 
rish as desperate as the Turks. She is a main 
derider to her capacity of those that are not her 
preachers, and censures all sermons but bad 
ones. If her husband be a tradesman, she 
helps him to customers, howsoever to good 
cheer, and they are a most faithful couple at 
these meetings, for they never fail. Her con- 
science is like others lust, never satisfied, and 
you might better answer Scotus than her 

7 Weapons are Spells no less potent than different, as be- 
ing the sage sentences of some of her own sectaries. First 
olit. 



99 

scruples. She is one that thinks she performs 
all her duties to God in hearing, and shews the £ 
fruits of it in talking. She is more fiery agains 
the may -pole than her husband, and thinks she 
might do a Phineas' act to break the pate of the 
fidler. She is an everlasting argument, but I 
am weary of her. 



XXXV. 

A sceptick in religion 
Is one that hangs in the balance with all sorts 
of opinions, whereof not one but stirs him and 
none sways him. A man guiltier of credulity 
than he is taken to be ; for it is out of his belief 
of every thing, that he fully believes nothing. 
Each religion scares him from its contrary : 
h 2 



100 

none persuades him to itself. He would be 
wholly a christian, but that he is something of 
an atheist, and wholly an atheist, but that he is 
partly a christian ; and a perfect heretic, but 
that there are so many to distract him. He 
finds reason in all opinions, truth in none: in- 
deed the least reason perplexes him, and the 
best will not satisfy him. He is at most a con- 
fused and wild christian, not specialized by 
any form, but capable of all. He uses the 
land's religion, because it is next him, yet he 
sees not why he may not take the other, but he 
chuses this, not as better, but because there is 
not a pin to choose. He finds doubts and 
scruples better than resolves them, and is al- 
ways too hard for himself. His learning is too 
much for his brain, and his judgment too little 
for his learning, and his oVer-opinion of both, 
spoils all. Pity it was his mischance of being 
a scholar ; for it docs only distract and irregu- 
Ijite him, and the world by him. He hammers 



101 

much in general upon our opinion's uncertainty, 
and the possibility of erring makes him not 
venture on what is true. He is troubled at this 
naturalness of religion to countries, that pro- 
testantism should be born so in England and 
popery abroad, and that fortune and the stars 
should so much share in it. He likes not this 
connection of the common-weal and divinity, 
and fears it may be an arch-practice of state. 
In our differences with Rome he is strangely un- 
fixed, and a new man every new day, as his 
last discourse-book's meditations transport him. 
He could like the gray hairs of popery, did not 
some dotages there stagger him : he would 
come to us sooner, but our new name affrights 
him. He is taken with their miracles, but 
doubts an imposture ; he conceives of our doc- 
trine better, but it seems too empty and naked. 
He cannot drive into his fancy the circumscrip- 
tion of truth to our corner, and is as hardly per- 
suaded to think their old legends true. He ap- 



102 

proves well of our faith, and more of their 
works, and is sometimes much affected at the 
zeal of Amsterdam . His conscience interposes 
itself betwixt duellers, and whilst it would part 
both, is by both wounded. He will sometimes 
propend much to us upon the reading a good 
writer, and at Bellarmine 8 recoils as far back 



8 Robert Bellarmin, an Italian Jesuit, was born at 
Monte Pulciano, a town in Tuscany, in the year 1542, 
and in 1560 entered himself among the Jesuits. In 
1599 he was honoured with a. cardinal's hat, and in 
1602 was presented with the arch-bishopric of Capua : 
this, however, he resigned in 1605, when pope Paul V. 
desired to have him near himself. He was employed in 
the affairs of the court of Rome till 1621, when, leav- 
ing the Vatican, he retired to a house belonging to his 
order, and died September 17, in the same year. 

Bellarmin was one of the best controversial writers of 
his time; few authors have done greater honour to 
their profession or opinions, and certain it is that none 
have ever more ably defended the cause of the Romish 
church, or contended in favour of the pope with greater 
advantage. As a proof of Bellarmin's abilities, there 
was scarcely a divine of any eminence among the 
protcstants who did not attack him : Bayle aptly says, 



103 

again ; and the fathers justle him from one 
side to another. Now Socinus 9 and Vorstius 10 

" they made his name resound every where, ut littus 
Styla, Styla, omne sonaret." 

9 Faustus Socinus is so well known as the founder of 
the sect which goes under his name, that a few words 
will be sufficient. He was born in 1539, at Sienna, and 
imbibed his opinions from the instruction of his uncle, 
who always had a high opinion of, and confidence in, 
the abilities of his nephew, to whom he bequeathed all 
his papers. After living several years in the world, 
principally at the court of Francis de Medicis, S;cinus, 
in 1577, went into Germany, and began to propagate 
the principles of his uncle, to which, it is said, he made 
great additions and alterations of his own. In the sup- 
port of his opinions, he suffered considerable hardships, 
and received the greatest insults and persecutions; to 
avoid which, he retired to a place near Cracow, in Po- 
land, where he died in 1504, at the age of sixty-five. 

10 Conrade Vorstius, a learned divine, who was pe- 
culiarly detested by the Calvinists, and who had even 
the honour to be attacked by king James the first, of 
England, was born in 1569. Being compelled, through 
the interposition of James's ambassador, to quit Leiden, 
where he had attained the divinity-chair, and several 
other preferments, he retired to Toningen, where he 
died in 1622, with the strongest tokens of piety and 
resignation. 



104 

afresh torture him, and he agrees with none 
worse than himself. He puts his foot into he- 
resies tenderly, as a cat in the water, and pulls 
it out again, and still something unanswered 
delays him ; yet he bears away some parcel of 
each, and you may sooner pick all religions 
out of him than one. lie cannot think so 
many wise men should be in error, nor so 
many honest men out of the way, and his won- 
der is double when he sees these oppose one 
another. He hates authority as the tyrant of 
reason, and you cannot anger him worse than 
with a father's dixit, and yet that many are 
not persuaded with reason, shall authorise his 
doubt. In sum, his whole life is a question, 
and his salvation a greater, which death only 
concludes, and then he is resolved. 



105 



XXXVI. 

An attorney. 
His antient beginning was a blue coat, since 
a livery, and his hatching under a lawyer ; 
whence, though but pen-feathered, he hath now 
nested for himself, and with his hoarded pence 
purchased an office. Two desks and a quire of 
paper set him up, where he now sits in state for 
all comers. We can call him no great author, 
yet he writes very much and with the infamy of 
the court is maintained in his libels \ He has 
some smatch of a scholar, and yet uses Latin 
very hardly ; and lest it should accuse him, 
cuts it off in the midst, and will not let it speak 



i His style is very constant, for it keeps still the former 
aforesaid ; and yet it seems he is much troubled in it, for he 
is always humbly complaining — your poor orator. First 
edit. 



106 

out. He is, contrary to great men, maintained 
by his followers, that is, his poor country cli- 
ents, that worship him more than their land- 
lord, and be they never such churls, he looks 
for their courtesy. He first racks them soundly 
himself, and then delivers them to the lawyer 
for execution. His looks are very solicitous, 
importing much haste and dispatch, he is 
never without his hands full of business, that is — 
of paper. His skin becomes at last as dry as his 
parchment, and his face as intricate as the most 
winding cause. He talks statutes as fiercely as 
if he had mooted 2 seven years in the inns of 
court, when all his skill is stuck in his girdle, 
or in his office-window. Strife and wrangling 

8 To mootc a terme vsed in the innes of the court ; it is 
the handling of a case, as in the Vniuersitie their dispu- 
tations, &c. So Minshew, who supposes it to be derived 
from the French, mot, vcrbum, quasi verba faccre, aut 
fermonem de aliqua re habere. Moot men are those„who, 
having studied seven or eight years, are qualified to 
practise, and appear to answer to our term of barristers. 



10T 

have made him rich, and he is thankful to his 
benefactor, and nourishes it. If he live in a 
country village, he makes all his neighbours 
good subjects ; for there shall be nothing done 
but what there is law for. His business gives 
him not leave to think of his conscience, and 
when the time, or term of his life is going out, 
for dooms-day he is secure ; for he hopes he has 
a trick to reverse judgment:. 



XXXV1L 

A partial man 
Is the opposite extreme to a defamer, for the 
one speaks ill falsely, and the other well, 
and both slander the truth. He is one that is 
still weighing men in the scale of comparisons, 
and puts his affections in the one balance 



108 

and that sways. His friend always shall do 
best, and you shall rarely hear good of his ene- 
my. He considers first the man and then the 
thing, and restrains all merit to what they de- 
serve of him. Commendations he esteems not 
the debt of worth, but the requital of kindness ; 
and if you ask his reason, shews his interest, 
and tells you how much he is beholden to that 
man. He is one that ties his judgment to the 
wheel of fortune, and they determine giddily 
both alike. He prefers England before other 
countries because he was born there, and Ox- 
ford before other universities, because he was 
brought up there, and the best scholar there 
is one of his own college, and the best scholar 
there is one of his friends. He is a great fa- 
vourer of great persons, and his argument is 
still that which should be antecedent ; as, — he 
is in high place, therefore virtuous ; — he is 
preferred, therefore worthy. Never ask his 
opinion, for you shall hear but his faction, and 



109 

he is indifferent in nothing but conscience. 
Men esteem him for this a zealous affectionate, 
but they mistake him many times, for he does 
it but to be esteemed so. Of all men he is 
worst to write an history, for he will praise a 
Sejanus or Tiberius, and for some petty respect 
of his all posterity shall be cozened. 



XXXVIII. 

A trumpeter 
Is the elephant with the great trunk, for he 
eats nothing but what comes through this way. 
His profession is not so worthy as to occasion in- 
solence, and yet no man so much puft up. His 
face is as brazen as his trumpet, and (which is 
worse,) as a fidler's, from whom he differeth only 
in this, that his impudence is dearer. The sea 



no 

of drink and much wind make a storm perpetu- 
ally in his cheeks, and his look is like his noise, 
blustering and tempestuous. He was whilom 
the sound of \\ ar, but now of peace ; yet as ter- 
rible as ever, for wheresoever he comes they are 
sure to pay for it. He is the common attendant 
of glittering folks, whether in the court or stage, 
where he is always the prologue's prologue 3 . 
He is somewhat in the nature of a hogshead, 
shrillest when he is empty ; when his belly is 
full he is quiet enough. No man proves life 
more to be a blast, or himself a bubble, and he 

3 The prologue to our ancient dramas was ushered 
in by trumpets. " Present not yourselfe on the stage 
(especially at a new play) untill the quaking prologue 
hath (by rubbing) got cullor into his cheekes, and is 
ready to giue the trumpets their cue that hee's vpon 
point to enter/ Decker's Gut's Hornbook, 1609. 
p. 30. 

" Doe you not know that I am the Prologue? Do you 
not see this long blacke veluet cloke vpon my backe? 
llaueyou not sounded thrice ?■" Heywood's Foure Pren~ 
Uses of London. 4to. 1015. 



Ill 

is like a counterfeit bankrupt, thrives best when 
he his blown up. 



XXXIX. 

A vulgar-spirited man 
Is one of the herd of the world. One that 
follows merely the common cry, and makes it 
louder by one. A man that loves none but who 
are publickly affected, and he will not be wiser 
than the rest of the town. That never owns a 
friend after an ill name, or some general impu- 
tation, though he knows it most unworthy. 
That opposes to reason, " thus men say ;" and 
il thus most do;" and " thus the world goes ;" 
and thinks this enough to poise the other. That 
worships men in place, and those only: and 



112 

thinks all a great man speaks oracles. Much 
taken with my lord's jest, and repeats you it all 
to a syllable. One that justifies nothing out of 
fashion, nor any opinion out of the applauded 
way. That thinks certainly all Spaniards and 
Jesuits very villains, and is still cursing the 
pope and Spinola. One that thinks the gravest 
cassock the best scholar ; and the best cloaths 
the finest man. That is taken only with broad 
and obscene wit, and hisses any thing too deep 
for him. That cries, Chaucer for his money 
above all our English poets, because the voice 
has gone so, and lie has read none. That is 
much ravished with such a nobleman's courtesy, 
and would venture his life for him, because he 
put off his hat. One that is foremost still to 
kiss the king's hand, and cries, " God bless 
his majesty !" loudest. That rails on all men 
condemned and out of favour, and the first that 
<>?iys "away with the traitors!" — yet struck with 
much ruth at executions, and for pity to seen 



113 

man die, could kill the hangman. That comes 
to London to see it, and the pretty things in it, 
and, the chief cause of his journey, the bears. 
That measures the happiness of the kingdom by 
the cheapness of corn, and conceives no harm 
of state, but ill trading. Within this compass 
too, come those that are too much wedged into 
the world, and have no lifting thoughts above 
those things ; that call to thrive, to do well ; 
and preferment only the grace of God. That 
aim all studies at this mark, and shew you 
poor scholars as an example to take heed by. 
That think the prison and want a judgment for 
some sin, and never like well hereafter of a 
jail-bird. That know no other content but 
wealth, bravery, and the town-pleasures ; that 
think all else but idle speculation, and the phi- 
losophers madmen. In short, men that are 
carried away with all outwardnesses, shews, 
appearances, the stream, the people; for there 



114 

is no man of worth but has a piece of singula- 
rity, and scorns something. 



XL, 

A plodding student 
Is a kind of alchymist or persecutor of nature, 
that would change the dull lead of his brain into 
finer metal, with success many times as un- 
prosperous, or at least not quitting the cost, to 
wit, of his own oil and candles. He has a 
strange forced appetite to learning, and to at- 
chieve it brings nothing but patience and a 
body. His study is not great but continual, 
and consists much in the sitting up till after 
midnight in a rug-gown and a night-cap, to the 



115 

vanquishing perhaps of some six lines; yet 
what he has, he has perfect, for he reads it so 
long to understand it, till he gets it without 
book. He may with much industry make a 
breach into logick, and arrive at some ability in 
an argument ; but for politer studies he dare 
not skirmish with them, and for poetry accounts 
it impregnable. His invention is no more than 
the finding out of his papers, and his few 
gleanings there ; and his disposition of them is 
as just as the book-binders, a setting or glew- 
ing of them together. He is a great discom- 
forter of young students, by telling them what 
travel it has cost him, and how often his brain 
turned at philosophy, and makes others fear 
studying as a cause of duncery. He is a man 
much given to apothegms, which serve him for 
wit, and seldom breaks any jest but which 
belonged to some Lacedemonian or Roman in 
Lycosthenes. He is like a dull carrier's horse, 
that will go a whole week together, but never 
i 2 



116 

out of a foot pace; and he that sets forth on 
the Saturday shall overtake him. 



XLI. 

Paul's walk* 
Is the land's epitome, or you may call it the 
lesser isle of Great Britain. It is more than this, 
the whole world's map, which you may here 

4 St. Paul's cathedral was, during the reigns of Eliza- 
beth and James, a sort of exchange and public parade, 
where business was transacted between merchants, and 
where the fashionables of the day exhibited themselves. 
The reader will find several allusions to this custom in 
the variorum edition of Shakspeare, K. Henry IV. part 
2. Osborne, in his Traditional Mcmoires on the Reigns 
of Elizabeth and James, 12mo. 1658, says, "It was the 
fashion of those times (James I.) and did so continue 
ill these, (the interregnum,) for the principal gentry, 



117 

discern in its perfectest motion, justling and 
turning. It is a heap of stones and men, with 
a vast confusion of languages ; and were the 
steeple not sanctified, nothing liker -Babel. 
The noise in it is like that of bees, a strange 
humming or buzz mixed of walking tongue^ 
and feet : it is a kind of still roar or loud whis- 
per. It is the great exchange of all discourse, 
and no business whatsoever but is here stirring 
and a-foot. It is the synod of all pates politick, 
jointed and laid together in most serious pos- 
ture, and they are not half so busy at the par- 
liament. It is the antick of tails to tails, and 



lords, courtiers, and men of all professions, not merely 
mechanicks, to meet in St. Paul's church by eleven, 
and walk in the middle isle till twelve, and after dinner 
from three to six ; during which time some discoursed 
of business, others of news." Weever complains of the 
practice, and says, " it could be wished that walking 
in the middle isle of Paules might be forborne in the 
time of diuine seruice." 1 Ancient Funeral Monuments, 
1631, page 873. 



118 

backs to backs, and for vizards you need g®, 
no farther than faces. It is the market of 
young lecturers, whom you may cheapen here 
at all rates and sizes. It is the general mint of 
all famous lies, which are here like the legends 
of popery, first coined and stamped in the 
church. All inventions are emptied here, and 
not few pockets. The best sign of a temple in 
it is, that it is Ihe thieves sanctuary, which rob 
more safely in the crowd than a wilderness^ 
whilst every searcher is a bush to hide them. 
It is the other expence of the day, after plays, 
tavern, and a bawdy-house; and men have 
still some oaths left to swear here. It is the 
ear's brothel, and satisfies their lust and itch. 
The visitants are all men without exceptions, 
but the principal inhabitants and possessors are 
stale knights and captains 5 out of service ; men 

5 In the Dramatis Persona to Ben Jonson's Every 
Man in his Humour, Bobadil is styled a Paul's man ; 
and Falstaff tells us that he bought Bardolph in Ptiul's. 
King Henry IV. Part 2. 



119 

of long rapiers and breeches, which after all 
turn merchants here and traffick for news. 
Some make it a preface to their dinner, and 
travel for a stomach ; but thriftier men make 
it their ordinary, and board here very cheap 6 , 
Of all such places it is least haunted with hob- 
goblins, for if a ghost would walk more, he 
«ould not. 

fi — You'd not doe 



Like your penurious father, who was wont 
To walke his dinner out in Paules. 

Mayne's City Match, 165^. 



120 



XLIL 

A cook. 
The kitchen is his hell, and he the devil in 
it, where his meat and he fry together. His 
revenues are showered down from the fat of the 
land, and he interlards his own grease among 
to help the drippings,, Cholerick he is not by 
nature so much as his art, and it is a shrewd 
temptation that the chopping- knife is so near. 
His weapons, ofter offensive, are a mess of hot 
broth and scalding water, and woe be to him 
that comes in his way. In the kitchen he will 
domineer and rule the roast in spight of his 
master, and curses in the very dialect of his 
calling. His labour is meer blustering and 
fury, and his speech like that of sailors in a 
storm, a thousand businesses at once; yet, in 
all t)i is tumult, he does not love combustion, 



121 

but will be the first man that shall go and 
quench it. ^e is never a good christian till a 
hissing pot of ale has slacked him, like water 
cast on a firebrand, and for that time he is tame 
and dispossessed. His cunning is not small in 
architecture, for he builds strange fabricks in 
paste, towers and castles, which are offered to 
the assault of valiant teeth, and like Darius' 
palace in one banquet demolished. He is a 
pittiless murderer of innocents, and he mangles 
poor fowls with unheard-of tortures ; and it is 
thought the martyrs persecutions were devised 
from hence : sure we are, St. Lawrence's 
gridiron came out of his kitchen. His best fa- 
culty is at the dresser, where he seems to have 
great skill in the tacticks, ranging his dishes in 
order military, and placing with great discre- 
tion in the fore-front meats more strong and 
hardy, and the more cold and cowardly in the 
rear ; as quaking tarts and quivering custards, 



128 

and such milk-sop dishes, which scape many 
times the fury of the encounter. « But now the 
second course is gone up and he down in the 
cellar, where he drinks and sleeps till four 
o'clock 7 in the afternoon, and then returns 
again to his regiment. 



XLIII. 

A bold forward man 

Is a lusty fellow in a crowd, that is beholden 

more to his elbow than his legs, for he does not 

go, but thrusts well. He is a good shuffler in 

the world, wherein he is so oft putting forth, 



7 The time of supper was about five o'clock. See 
note at page 43. 



123 

that at length he puts on. He can do some 
things, but dare do much more, and is like a 
desperate soldier, who will assault any thing 
where he is sure not to enter. He is not so 
well opinioned of himself, as industrious to 
make others, and thinks no vice so prejudicial 
as blushing. He is still citing for hims: if, that 
a candle should not be hid under a bushel ; and 
for his part he will be sure not to hide his, 
though his candle be but a snuff or rush -candle* 
Those few good parts he has, he is no niggard 
in displaying, and is like some needy flaunting: 
goldsmith, nothing in the inner room, but all 
on the cupboard. If he be a scholar, he has 
commonly stepped into the pulpit before a de- 
gree, yet into that too before he deserved it. 
He never defers St. Mary's beyond his regency,, 
and his next sermon is at Paul's cross 8 , [and 

a Paul's cross stood in the church-yard of that cathe- 
dral, on the north side, towards the cast end. It was 
»s»d for the preaching of sermons to the populace; 



124 

that printed.] He loves publick things alive; 
and for any solemn entertainment he will find 
a mouth, find a speech who will. He is greedy 
of great acquaintance and many, and thinks it 
no small advancement to rise to be known. 
[He is one that has all the great names at 
court at his fingers ends, and their lodgings ; 
and with a saucy, " my lord, 1 ' will salute the 
best of them.] His talk at the table is like Ben- 
jamin's mess, five times to his part, and no ar- 
gument shuts him out for a quarrclier. Of all 
disgraces he endures not to be nonplussed, and 
had rather fly for sanctuary to nonsense which 
few descry, than to nothing which all. His 
boldness is beholden to other men's modesty, 
which rescues him many times from a baffle ; 

and Holinshed mentions two instances of public pe- 
nance being performed here; in 1534 by some of the 
adherents of Elizabeth Barton, well known as the holy 
maul of Kent, and in 1536 by sir Thomas Newman, a 
priest, who " bare a faggot at Paulcs crosse for st7iL r nig 
matte with good ale*- 



125 

yet his face is good armour, and he is dashed 
out of any thing sooner than countenance. 
Grosser conceits are puzzled in him for a rare 
man ; and wiser men though they know him 
[yet] take him [in] for their pleasure, or as 
they would do a sculler for being next at hand. 
Thus preferment at last stumbles on him, be- 
cause he is still in the way. His companions 
that flouted him before, now envy him, when 
they see him come ready for scarlet, whilst 
themselves lye musty in their old clothes and 
colleges. 



XLIV. 



A baker. 
No man verifies the proverb more, that it is 
an alms-deed to punish him ; for his penalty is 



126 

a dole 9 , and does the beggars as much good as 
their dinner. He abhors, therefore, works of 
charity, and thinks his bread cast away when 
it is given to the poor. He loves not justice 
neither, for the weigh-scale's sake, and hates 
the clerk of the market as his executioner; 
yet he finds mercy in his offences, and his bas- 
ket only is sent to prison I0 . Marry a pillory is 
his deadly enemv, and he never hears well 
after. 



9 Dole original'y signified the portion of alms that was 
given away at the door of a nobleman. Steevens, note 
to Shakspeare. Sir John Hawkins affirms that the bene- 
faction distributed at Lambeth palace gate, is to. this 
day called the dole. 

10 Thai is, the contents of his basket, if discovered 
to be of light weight, are distributed to the needy pri- 
soners. 



127 



XLV. 

A pretender to learning 
is one that would make all others more fools 
than himself, for though he know nothing, he 
would not have the world know so much. He 
conceits nothing in learning but the opinion, 
which he seeks to purchase without it, though 
he might with less labour cure his ignorance 
than hide it. He is indeed a kind of scholar- 
mountebank, and his art our delusion. He is 
tricked out in all the accoutrements of learning, 
and at the first encounter none passes better. 
He is oftener in his study than at his book, and 
you cannot pleasure him better than to depre- 
hend him : yet lie hears you not till the third 
knock, and then comes out very angry as in- 



128 

terrupted. You find him in his slippers 1 and 
a pen in his ear, in which formality he was 
asleep. His table is spread wide with some 
classick folio, which is as constant to it as the 
carpet, and hath laid open in the same page 
this half year. His candle is always a longer 
sitter up than himself, and the boast* of his 
window at midnight. He walks much alone 
in the posture of meditation, and has a book 
still before his face in the fields. His pocket 
is seldom without a Greek testament or Hebrew 
bible, which he opens only in the church, and 
that when some stander-by looks over. He has 
sentences for company, some scatterings of 
Seneca and Tacitus, which are good upon all 
occasions. If he reads any thing in the morn- 
ing, it comes up all at dinner ; and as long as 



1 Study, first edit. 

'• The first edition reads post, and, I think, preferably. 



129 

that lasts, the discourse is his. He is a great 
plagiary of tavern wit, and comes to sermons 
only that he may talk of Austin. His parcels 
are the meer scrapings from company, yet he 
complains at parting what time he has lost. He 
is wondrously capricious to seem a judg- 
ment, and listens with a sower attention to what 
he understands not. He talks much of Scaliger, 
and Casaubon, and the Jesuits, and prefers 
some unheard-of Dutch name before them all. 
He has verses to bring in upon these and these 
hints, and it shall go hard but he will wind in 
his opportunity. He is critical in a language 
he cannot conster, and speaks seldom under 
Arminius in divinity. His business and retire- 
ment and caller away is his study, and he pro* 
tests no delight to it comparable. He is a great 
nomenclator of authors, which he has read in 
general in the catalogue, and in particular in the 
title, and goes seldom so far as the dedication. 
He never talks of any thing but learning, and 

K 



130 

learns all from talking. Three encounters with 
the same men pump him, and then he only 
puts in or gravely says nothing. He has taken 
pains to be an ass, though not to be a scholar, 
and is at length discovered and laughed at. 



XLVI. 

A herald 
Js the spawn or indeed but the rcsultancy of 
nobility, and to the making of him went not a 
generation but a genealogy. His trade is hon- 
our, and he sells it and gives arms himself, 
though he be no gentleman. His bribes are 
like those of a corrupt judge, for they are the 
prices of blood. He seems very rich in dis- 



131 

course, for he tells you of whole fields of gold 
and silver, or, and argent, worth much in 
French but in English nothing. He is a great 
diver in the streams or issues of gentry, and not 
a by-channel or bastard escapes him; yea he 
does with them like some shameless queen, 
fathers more children on them than ever they 
begot. His traffick is a kind of pedlary-ware, 
scutchions, and pennons, and little daggers and 
lions, such as children esteem and gentlemen ; 
but his pennyworths are rampant, for you may 
buy three whole brawns cheaper than three boar's 
heads of him painted. He was sometimes the 
terrible coat of Mars, but is now for more merci- 
ful battles in the tilt-yard, where whosoever is 
victorious, the spoils are his. He is an art in 
England but in Wales nature, where they are 
born with heraldry in their mouths, and each 
name is a pedigree. 



k 2 



132 



XLVII. 



The common singing-men in cathedral 
churches 
Are a bad society, and yet a company of 
good fellows, that roar deep in the quire, deeper 
in the tavern. They are the eight parts of 
speech which go to the syntaxis of service, and 
are distinguished by their noises much like 
bells, for they make not a concert but a peal. 
Their pastime or recreation is prayers, their 
exercise drinking, yet herein so religiously ad- 
dicted that they serve God oftest when they 
are drunk. Their humanity is a leg to the resi- 
dencer, their learning a chapter, for they learn 
it commonly before they read it ; yet the old 
Hebrew names are little beholden to them, for 
they mis-call them worse than one another. 
Though they never expound the scripture, 






133 

they handle it much, and pollute the gospel with 
two things, their conversation and their thumbs. 
Upon worky-days, they behave themselves at 
prayers as at their pots, for they swallow them 
down in an instant. Their gowns are laced 
commonly with streamings of ale, the superflu- 
ities of a cup or throat above measure. Their 
skill in melody makes them the better com- 
panions abroad, and their anthems abler to sing 
catches. Long lived for the most part they 
are not, especially the base, they overflow their 
bank so oft to drown the organs. Briefly, if 
they escape arresting, they die constantly in 
God's service ; and to take their death with 
more patience, they have wine and cakes at 
their funeral, and now they keep 3 the church 
a great deal better, and help to fill it with their 
bones as before with their noise. 

3 Keep for attend, 



134 



XLVIII. 

A shop-keeper. 
His shop is his well stuft book, and himself 
the title-page of it, or index. He utters much 
to all men, though he sells but to a few, and in- 
treats for his own necessities, by asking others 
what they lack. No man speaks more and no 
more, for his words are like his wares, twenty 
of one sort, and he goes over them alike to all 
commers. He is an arrogant commendcr of his 
own things ; for whatsoever he shews you is the 
best in the town, though the worst in his shop. 
His conscience Avas a tiling that would have 
laid upon his hands, and he was forced to put 
it off, and makes great use of honesty to profess 
upon, lie tells you lies by rote, and not 
minding, as the phrase to sell in, and the lan- 
guage lie spent most of his years to learn. He 



135 

never speaks so truely as when he says he would 
use you as his brother ; for he would abuse his 
brother, and in his shop thinks it lawful. His 
religion is much in the nature of his customers, 
and indeed the pander to it : and by a mis-in- 
terpreted sense of scripture makes a gain of his 
godliness. He is your slave while you pay him 
ready money, but if he once befriend you, your 
tyrant, and you had better deserve his hate than 
his trust. 



XLIX. 

A blunt man 
Is one whose wit is better pointed than his be- 
haviour, and that coarse and impolished, not 
out of ignorance so much as humour. He is a 



136 

great enemy to the fine gentleman, and these 
things of complement, and hates ceremony in 
conversation, as the Puritan in religion. He 
distinguishes not betwixt fair and double deal- 
ing, and suspects all smoothness for the dress of 
knavery. He starts at the encounter of a salu- 
tation as an assault, and beseeches you in choler 
to forbear your courtesy. He loves not any 
thing in discourse that comes before the pur- 
pose, and is always suspicious of a preface. 
Himself falls rudely still on his matter without 
any circumstance, except he use an old pro- 
verb for an introduction. He swears old out- 
of-date innocent oaths, as, by the mass ! by our 
lady ! and such like, and though there be lords 
present, he cries, my masters ! He is exceed- 
ingly in love with his humour, which makes 
him always profess and proclaim it, and you 
must take what he says patiently, because he 
is a plain man. His nature is his excuse still, 
and other men's tyrant ; for he must speak his 



137 

mind, and that is his worst, and craves your 
pardon most injuriously for not pardoning you. 
His jests best become him, because they come 
from him rudely and unaffected ; and he has 
the luck commonly to have them famous. He 
is one that will do more than he will speak, and 
jet speak more than he will hear; for though he 
love to touch others, he is touchy himself, and 
seldom to his own abuses replies but with his 
fists. He is as squeazy 4 of his commendations, 
as his courtesy, and his good word is like an 
eulogy in a satire. He is generally better fa- 
voured than he favours, as being commonly 
well expounded in his bitterness, and no man 
speaks treason more securely. He chides great 
men with most boldness, and is counted for it 
an honest fellow. He is grumbling much in 
the behalf of the commonwealth, and is in pri- 
son oft for it with credit. He is generally ho» 

* Sqveazy, niggardly. 



138 

nest, but more generally thought so, and his 
downrightness credits him, as a man not well 
bended and crookned to the times. In con- 
clusion, he is not easily bad, in whom this qua- 
lity is nature, but the counterfeit is most dan- 
gerous, since he is disguised in a humour, that 
professes not lo disguise. 



L. 



A handsome hostess 
Is the fairer commendation of an inn, above 
the fair sign, or fair lodgings. She is the 
loadstone that attracts men of iron, gallants and 
roarers, where they cleave sometimes long, and 
arc not easily got off. Her lips arc your wel- 
eorae, and your entertainment her company, 



139 

which is put into the reckoning too, and is the 
dearest parcel in it. No citizen's wife is de- 
murer than she at the first greeting, nor draws 
in her mouth with a chaster simper ; but you 
may be more familiar without distaste, and she 
does not startle at bawdry. She is the confu- 
sion of a pottle of sack more than would have 
been spent elsewhere, and her little jugs are 
accepted to have her kiss excuse them. She 
may be an honest woman, but is not believed 
so in her parish, and no man is a greater infidel 
in it than her husband. 



LI 



A critic 
Is one that has spelled over a great many 
books, and his observation is the orthography. 



140 

He is the surgeon of old authors, and heals the 
wounds of dust and ignorance. He converses 
much in fragments and desunt multa's, and if 
he piece it up with two lines he is more proud 
of that book than the author. He runs over all 
sciences to peruse their syntaxis, and thinks all 
learning comprised in writing Latin. He tastes 
stiles as some discrecter palates do wine ; and 
tells you which is genuine, which sophisticate 
and bastard. His own phrase is a miscellany 
of old words, deceased long before the Caesars, 
and entombed by Varro, and the modernest 
man lie follows is Plautus. He writes omneis 
at length, and quidquid, and his gerund is most 
inconformable. He is a troublesome vexer of 
the dead, which after so long sparing must rise 
up to the judgment of his castigations. He is 
one that makes all books sell dearer, whilst he 
swells them into tblios with his comments 5 . 

•' On this passage, I fear, the piesen.t volume will be 
a sufficient commentary. 



141 



LII. 

A sergeant, or catch-pole 
Is one of God's judgments; and which our 
roarers do only conceive terrible. He is the 
properest shape wherein they fancy Satan ; for 
he is at most but an arrester, and hell a dungeon. 
He is the creditor's hawk, wherewith they seize 
upon flying birds, and fetch them again in his 
tallons. He is the period of young gentlemen, 
or their full stop, for when he meets with them 
they can go no farther. His ambush is a shop- 
stall, or close lane, and his assault is cowardly 
at your back. He respites you in no place but 
a tavern, where he sells his minutes dearer than 
a clock-maker. The common way to run from 
him is through him, which is often attempted 
and atchieved, 6 \and no man is more beaten 

6 And the clubs out of charity knock him down, first 
edit. 



142 

out of charity. ~] He is one makes the street 
more dangerous than the highways, and men 
go better provided in their walks than their 
journey. He is the first handsel of the young 
rapiers of the templers ; and they are as proud 
of his repulse as an Hungarian of killing a 
Turk. He is a moveable prison, and his hands 
two manacles hard to be filed off. He is an oc- 
casions of disloyal thoughts in the common- 
wealth, for he makes men hate the king's name 
worse than the devil's. 



LIII. 

An university dun 
Is a gentleman's follower cheaply purchased, 
for his own money lias hired him. He is an in- 
ferior creditor of some ten shillings downwards, 



143 

contracted for horse-hire, or perchance for drink, 
too weak to be put in suit, and he arrests your 
modesty. He is now very expensive of his 
time, for he will wait upon your stairs a whole 
afternoon, and dance attendance with more pa- 
tience than a gentleman-usher. He is a sore be- 
leaguerer of chambers, and assaults them some- 
times with furious knocks ; yet finds strong re- 
sistance commonly, and is kept out. He is a 
great complainer of scholar's loytering, for he 
is sure never to find them within, and yet he is 
the chief cause many times that makes them 
study. He grumbles at the ingratitude of men 
that shun him for his kindness, but indeed it is 
his own fault, for he is too great an upbraider. 
No man puts them more to their brain than he ; 
and by shifting him off they learn to shift in the 
world. Some chuse their rooms on purpose to 
avoid his surprisals, and think the best com- 
modity in them his prospect. He is like a re- 
jected acquaintance, hunts those that care not 



144 

for his company, and he knows it well enough, 
and yet will not keep away. The sole place to 
supple him is the buttery, where he takes 
grievous use upon your name 7 , and he is one 
much wrought with good beer and rhetorick. 
He is a man of most unfortunate voyages, and 
no gallant walks the streets to less purpose. 



LIV. 

A stayed man 
Is a man : one that has taken order with him- 
self, and sets a rule to those lawlesnesses within 
him : whose life is distinct and in method, and 
his actions, as it were, cast up before : not loosed 
into the world's vanities, but gathered up and 

7 That is, runs you up a long score. 



145 

contracted in his station: not scattered into 
many pieces of businesses, but that one course 
he takes, goes through with. A man firm and 
standing in his purposes, not heaved off with 
each wind and passion: that squares his ex- 
pence to his coffers, and makes the total first, 
and then the items. One that thinks what he 
does, and does what he says, and foresees what 
he may do before he purposes. One whose " if 
I can" is more than another's assurance ; and 
his doubtful tale before some men's protesta- 
tions : — that is confident of nothing in futurity, 
yet his conjectures oft true prophecies: — that 
makes a pause still betwixt his ear and belief, 
and is not too hasty to say after others. One 
whose tongue is strung up like a clock till the 
time, and then strikes, and says much when lie 
talks little : — that can see the truth betwixt two 
wranglers, and sees them agree even in that 
they fall out upon : — that speaks no rebellion in 
a bravery, or talks big from the spirit of sack. 

L 



146 

A man cool and temperate in his passions, not 
easily betrayed by his choler : — that vies not 
oath with oath, nor heat with heat, but replies 
calmly to an angry man, and is too hard for him 
too : — that can come fairly off from captain's 
companies, and neither drink nor quarrel. One 
whom no ill hunting sends home discontented, 
and makes him swear at his dogs and family. 
One not hasty to pursue the new fashion, nor 
yet affectedly true to his old round breeches ; 
but gravely handsome, and to his place, which 
suits him better than his taylor: active in the 
world without disquiet, and careful without 
misery ; yet neither ingulphed in his pleasures, 
nor a seeker of business, but has his hour for 
both. A man that seldom laughs violently, but 
his mirth is a cheerful look : of a composed and 
settled countenance, not set, nor much alterable 
with sadness or joy. He affects nothing so 
wholly, that he must be a miserable man when 
he loses it ; but fore-thinks what will come here- 






147 

after, and spares fortune his thanks and curses. 
One that loves his credit, not this word repu- 
tation ; jet can save both without a duel. 
Whose entertainments to greater men are re- 
spectful, not complementary ; and to his friends 
plain, not rude. A good husband, father, 
master ; that is, without doting, pampering, 
familiarity. A man well poised in all humours, 
in whom nature shewed most geometry, and he 
has not spoiled the work. A man of more wis- 
dom than wittiness, and brain than fancy ; and 
abler to any thing than to make verses 



A modest man 
Is a far finer man than he knows of, one that 
shews better to all men than himself, and so 
l 2 



148 

much the better to all men, as less to himself 8 ; 
for no quality sets a man off like this, and com- 
mends him more against his will : and he can 
put up any injury sooner than this (as he calls 
it) your irony. You shall hear him confute 
his commenders, and giving reasons how much 
they are mistaken, and is angry almost if they 
do not believe him. Nothing threatens him 
so much as great expectation, which he thinks 
more prejudicial than your under-opinion, be- 
cause it is easier to make that false, than this 
true. He is one that sneaks from a good action, 
as one that had pilfered, and dare not justify 
it ; and is more blushingly reprehended in this, 
than others in sin : that counts all publick de- 
clarings of himself, but so many penances be- 
fore the people ; and the more you applaud 



B This, as well as many other passages in this work, 
has been appropriated by John Dunton, the celebrated 
bookseller, as his own. See his character of Mr. Samuel 
Hool, in Dunton's Life and Errors, 8yo. 1705. p. 337. 



149 

him, the more you abash him, and he recovers 
not his face a month after. One that is easy to 
like any thing of another man's, and thinks all 
he knows not of him better than that he knows. 
He excuses that to you, which another would 
impute ; and if you pardon him, is satisfied . 
One that stands in no opinion because it is his 
own, but suspects it rather, because it is his own, 
and is confuted and thanks you. He sees no- 
thing more willingly than his errors, and it is 
his error sometimes to be too soon persuaded. 
He is content to be auditor, where he only can 
speak, and content to go away, and think him- 
self instructed. No man is so weak that he is 
ashamed to learn of, and is less ashamed to con- 
fess it ; and he finds many times even in the dust, 
what others overlook and lose. Every man's 
presence is a kind of bridle to him, to stop the 
roving of his tongue and passions : and even 
impudent men look for this reverence from him, 
and distaste that in him, which they suffer in 



150 

themselves, as one in whom vice is ill-favoured, 
and shews more scurvily than another. A 
bawdy jest shall shame him more than a bastard 
another man, and he that got it shall censure 
him among the rest. And he is coward to no- 
thing more than an ill tongue, and whosoever 
dare lye on him hath power over him ; and if 
you take him by his look, he is guilty. The 
main ambition of his life is not to be discre- 
dited ; and for other things, his desires are more 
limited than his fortunes, which he thinks pre- 
ferment, though never so mean, and that he is 
To do something to deserve this. He is too 
tender to venture on great places, and would not 
hurt a dignity to help himself: If he do, it was 
the violence of his friends constrained him, 
how hardly soever he obtain it, he was harder 
persuaded to seek it. 



151 



LVJ, 



A meer empty wit 
Is like one that spends on the stock without 
any revenues coming in, and will shortly be no 
wit at all ; for learning is the fuel to the fire of 
wit, which, if it wants this feeding, eats out it 
self. A good conceit or two bates of such a 
man, and makes a sensible weakening in him ; 
and his brain recovers it not a year after. The 
rest of him are bubbles and flashes, darted out on 
a sudden, which, if you take them while they 
are warm, may be laughed at ; if they are cool, 
are nothing. He speaks best on the present 
apprehension, for meditation stupifies him, and 
the more he is in travel, the less he brings forth. 
His things come off then, as in a nauseateing 
stomach, where there is nothing to cast up, 
strains and convulsions, and some astonishing 



152 

bombast, which men only, till they understand, 
are scared with. A verse or some such work 
he may sometimes get up to, but seldom above 
the stature of an epigram, and that with some 
relief out of Martial, which is the ordinary com- 
panion of his pocket, and he reads him as he 
were inspired. Such men are commonly the 
trifling things of the world, good to make merry 
the company, and whom only men have to do 
withal when they have nothing to do, and none 
are less their friends than who are most their 
company. Here they vent themselves over a 
cup some-what more lastingly ; all their words 
go for jests, and all their jests for nothing. 
Tbcy are nimble in the fancy of some ridicu- 
lous thing, and reasonable good in the expres- 
sion. Nothing stops a jest when it's coming, 
neither friends, nor danger, but it must out how- 
soever, though their blood come out after, and 
then they emphatically rail, and are emphati- 
cally beaten, and commonly are men reasonable 



153 

familiar to this. Briefly they are such whose 
life is but to laugh and be laughed at; and 
only wits in jest and fools in earnest. 



LVII. 

A drunkard 
Is one that will be a man to-morrow morn- 
ing, but is now what you will make him, for he 
is in the power of the next man, and if a friend 
the better. One that hath let go himself from 
the hold and stay of reason, and lies open to the 
mercy of all temptations. No lust but finds 
him disarmed and fenceless, and with the least 
assault enters. If any mischief escape him, it 
was not his fault, for he was laid as fair for it as 
he could. Every man sees him, as Cham saw 



154 

his father the first of this sin, an uncovered 
man, and though his garment be on, uncovered ; 
the secretest parts of his soul lying in the na- 
kedest manner visible : all his passions come out 
now, all his vanities, and those shamefuller hu- 
mours which discretion clothes. His body be- 
comes at last like a miry way, where the spirits 
are beclogged and cannot pass : all his mem- 
bers are out of office, and his heels do but trip 
up one another. He is a blind man with eyes, 
and a cripple with legs on. All the use he has 
of this vessel himself, is to hold thus much ; for 
his drinking is but a scooping in of so many 
quarts, which are filled out into his body, and 
that filled out again into the room, which is 
commonly as drunk as he. Tobacco serves to 
air him after a washing, and is his only breath 
and breathing while. He is the greatest enemy 
to himself, and the next to his friend, and then 
most in the act of his kindness, for his kindness 
is but trying a mastery, who shall sink down 



155 

first : and men come from him as a battle, 
wounded and bound up. Nothing takes a 
man off more from his credit, and business, 
and makes him more retchlesly 9 careless what 
becomes of all. Indeed he dares not enter on a 
serious thought, or if he do, it is such melan- 
choly that it sends him to be drunk again. 

9 Rechlesse, negligent. Saxon, rectlerre. Chaucer 
uses it also as an adjective : 

" I may not in this cas be reccheles" 

Clerkes Tale, v. 8364. 



156 



LVIIJ. 

A prison 
Is the grave of the living l0 , where they are 
shut up from the world and their friends ; and 
the worms that gnaw upon them their own 
thoughts and the jaylor. A house of meagre 
looks and ill smells, for lice, drink, and tobac- 
co are the compound. Pluto's court was ex- 
pressed from this fancy; and the persons are 
much about the same parity that is there. You 
may ask, as Menippus in Lucian, which is Ni- 
reus, which Thersites, which the beggar, which 
the knight; — for they are all suited in the same 
form of a kind of nasty poverty. Only to be out 

10 " A prison is a graue to bury men aline, and a place 
wherein a man for halfe a yeares experience may learne 
more law then he can at Westminster for an hundred 
pound." Mynshui's Essays and Characters of a Prison. 
4 to. 1618. 



157 

at elbows is in fashion here, and a great inde- 
corum not to be thread-bare. Every man 
shews here like so many wracks upon the sea, 
here the ribs of a thousand pound, here the re- 
licks of so many mannors, a doublet without 
buttons ; and 'tis a spectacle of more pity than 
executions are. The company one with the 
other is but a vying of complaints, and the 
causes they have to rail on fortune and fool 
themselves, and there is a great deal of good 
fellowship in this. They are commonly, next 
their creditors, most bitter against the lawyers, 
as men that have had a great stroke in assisting 
them hither. Mirth here is stupidity or hard- 
heartedness, yet they feign it sometimes to slip 
melancholy, and keep off themselves from them- 
selves, and the torment of thinking what they 
have been. Men huddle up their life here as 
a thing of no use, and wear it out like an old 
suit, the faster the better ; and he that deceives 
the time best, best spends it. It is the place 



158 

where new comers are most welcomed, and, 
next them, ill news, as that which extends their 
fellowship in misery, and leaves few to insult :— 
and they breath their discontents more securely 
here, and have their tongues at more liberty 
than abroad. Men see here much sin and much 
calamity ; and where the last does not mortify, 
the other hardens ; as those that are worse 
here, are desperately worse, and those from 
whom the horror of sin is taken off and the 
punishment familiar : and commonly a hard 
thought passes on all that come from this school ; 
which though it teach much wisdom, it is too 
late, and with danger : and it is better be a fool 
than come here to learn it. 



159 



L1X. 

A serving man 
Is one of the makings up of a gentleman as 
well as his clothes, and somewhat in the same 
nature, for he is cast behind his master as 
fashionably as his sword and cloak are, and he 
is but in querpo 1 without him. His proper- 
ness 2 qualifies him, and of that a good leg; for 

i In querpo is a corruption from the Spanish word 
cuerpo. " En cuerpo, a man without a cloak" Pineda's 
Dictionary, J.740. The present signification evidently 
is, that a gentleman without his serving-man, or atten- 
dant, is but hah dressed : — he possesses only in part the 
appearance of a man of fashion. " To walk in cuerpo, 
is to go without a cloak" Glossographia Anglicana 
Nova, 8vo. 1719. 

2 Proper was frequently used by old writers for 
comely, or handsome. Shakspeare has several instances 
of it: 

u I do mistake my person all this while : 
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, 
Myself to be a marvellous proper man." 

K. Richard III. Act I. Sc. 2. &c. 



160 

his head he has little use but too keep it bare, 
A good dull wit best suits with him to compre- 
hend common sense and a trencher; for any 
greater store of brain it makes him but tumul- 
tuous, and seldom thrives with him. He fol- 
lows his master's steps, as well in conditions as 
the street : if he wench or drink, he comes him 
in an under kind, and thinks it a part of his 
duty to be like him. He is indeed wholly his 
master's ; of his faction, — of his cut,— of his 
pleasures :— he is handsome for his credit, and 
drunk for his credit, and if he have power in 
the cellar, commands the parish. He is one 
that keeps the best company, and is none of it ; 
for he knows all the gentlemen his master 
knows, and picks from thence some hawking 
and horse-race terms 2 , which he swaggers with 
in the ale-house, where he is only called 

3 " Why you know an'a man have not skill in the 
hawking and hunting languages now-a-days, I'll not 
give a riish for him." Master Stephen. Every Man in 
his Humour, 



161 

master. His mirth is bawdy jests with the 
wenches, and, behind the door, bawdy earnest. 
The best work he does is his marrying, for it 
makes an honest woman, and if he follows in it 
his master's direction, it is commonly the best 
service he does him. 



LX, 



An insolent man 



Is a fellow newly great and newly proud; one 
that hath put himself into another face upon 
his preferment, for his own was not bred to it. 
One whom fortune hath shot up to some office 
or authority, and he shoots up his neck to his 
fortune, and will not bate you an inch of either. 
His very countenance and gesture bespeak how 



M 



162 

much he is, and if you understand" him not, he 
tells you, and concludes every period with his 
place, which you must and shall know. He is 
one that looks on all men as if he were angry, 
but especially on those of his acquaintance, 
whom he beats off with a surlier distance, as 
men apt to mistake him, because they have 
known him : and for this cause he knows not 
you 'till you have told him your name, which 
he thinks he has heard, but forgot, and with 
much ado seems to recover. If you have any 
thing to use him in, you are his vassal for that 
time, and must give him the patience of any 
injury, which he does only to shew what he 
may do. He snaps you up bitterly, because 
he will be offended, and tells you, you are 
sawcy and troublesome, and sometimes takes 
your money in this language. His very cour- 
tesies are intolerable, they are done with such 
an arrogance and imputation ; and he is the 
only man you may hate after a good turn, and 



163 

not be ungrateful ; and men reckon it among 
their calamities to be beholden unto him. No 
vice draws with it a more general hostility, and 
makes men readier to search into his faults, and 
of them, his beginning ; and no tale so unlikely 
but is willingly heard of him and believed. 
And commonly such men are of no merit at all, 
but make out in pride what they want in worth, 
and fence themselves with a stately kind of be- 
haviour from that contempt which would pursue 
them. They are men whose preferment does 
us a great deal of wrong, and when they are 
down, we may laugh at them without breach of 
good-nature. 



164 



LXI. 

Acquaintance 

Is the first draught of a friend, whom we 
must lay down oft thus, as the foul copy, be- 
fore we can write him perfect and true: for 
from hence, as from a probation, men take a 
degree in our respect, till at last they wholly 
possess us : for acquaintance is the hoard, and 
friendship the pair chosen out of it ; by which 
at last we begin to impropriate and inclose to 
ourselves what before lay in common with 
others. And commonly where it grows not up 
to this, it falls as low as may be ; and no poorer 
relation than old acquaintance, of whom we 
only ask how they do for fashion's sake, and 
care not. The ordinary use of acquaintance is 
but somewhat a more boldness of society, a 



165 

sharing of talk j news, drink, mirth together; 
but sorrow is the right of a friend, as a thing 
nearer our heart, and to be delivered with it. 
Nothing easier than to create acquaintance, the 
mere being in company once does it ; whereas 
friendship, like children, is ingendered by a 
more inward mixture, and coupling together ; 
when we are acquainted not with their virtues 
only, but their faults, their passions, their 
fears, their shame, — and are bold on both sides 
to make their discovery. And as it is in the 
love of the body, which is then at the height 
and full when it has power and admittance into 
the hidden and worst parts of it ; so it is in 
friendship with the mind, when those verenda 
of the soul, and those things which we dare not 
shew the world, are bare and detected one to 
another. Some men are familiar with all, and 
those commonly friends to none ; for friend- 
ship is a sullener thing, is a contractor and 
taker up of our affections to some few, and sufc 



166 

fers them not loosely to be scattered on all mem 
The poorest tie of acquaintance is that of place 
and country, which are shifted as the place, and 
missed but while the fancy of that continues. 
These are only then gladdest of other, when 
they meet in some foreign region, where the 
encompassing of strangers unites them closer, 
till at last they get new, and throw oft' one an- 
other. Men of parts and eminency, as their 
acquaintance is more sought for, so they are 
generally more staunch of it T not out of pride 
only, but fear to let too many in too near them : 
for it is with men as with pictures, the best 
show better afar off and at distance, and the 
closer you come to them the coarser they are. 
The best judgment of a man is taken from his 
acquaintance, for friends and enemies are both 
partial ; whereas these see him truest because 
calmest, and are no way so engaged to lie for 
him. And men that grow strange after ac- 
quaintance, seldom piece together again, as 



167 

those that have tasted meat and dislike if ^ out 
of a mutual experience disrelishing one an- 
other. 



LXIL 

A meer complimental man 

Is one to be held off still at the same dis- 
tance you are now \ for you shall have him but 
thus, and if you enter on him farther you lose 
him. Methinks Virgil well expresses him in 
those well-behaved ghosts that iEneas met with, 
that were friends to talk with, and men to look 
on, but if lie grasped them, but air.? He is 
©ne that lies kindly to you, and for good 

7 Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circuni : 
Ter frustra conprensa manus effugit imago, 
Par ler.ibus ventis, volucrique simillima somno. 
Virgil Mn, vi. v. 700. edit. Iieynfr, 1787. 



168 

fashion's sake, and tis discourtesy in you to 
believe him. His words are so many fine 
phrases set together, which serve equally for all 
men, and are equally to no purpose. Each fresh 
encounter with a man puts him to the same part 
again, and he goes over to you what he said to 
him was last with him : he kisses your hands as he 
kissed his before, and is your servant to be com- 
manded, but you shall intreat of him nothing. 
His proffers are universal and general, with ex- 
ceptions against all particulars. He will do any 
thing for you, but if you urge him to this, he 
cannot, or to that, he is engaged ; but he will do 
any thing. Promises he accounts but a kind of 
mannerly words, and in the expectation of your 
manners not to exact them ; if you do, he won- 
ders at your ill breeding, that cannot distin- 
guish betwixt what is spoken and what is 
meant. No man gives better satisfaction at the 
first, and comes off more with the elogy of a 
kind gentleman, till you know him better, and 



169 

then you know him for nothing. And com- 
monly those most rail at him, that have before 
most commended him. The best is, he cozens 
you in a fair manner, and abuses you with 
great respect. 



LXI1I. 

A poor fiddler 

Is a man and a fiddle out of case, and he in 
worse case than his fiddle. One that rubs two 
sticks together (as the Indians strike fire), and 
rubs a poor living out of it ; partly from this, 
and partly from your charity, which is more 
in the hearing than giving him, for he sells 
nothing dearer than to be gone. He is just 
so many strings above a beggar, though he 
have but two > and yet he begs too, only not 



170 

in the downright i for God's sake,' but with a 
shrugging 'God bless you,' and his face is more 
pined than the blind man's. Hunger is the 
greatest pain he takes, except a broken head 
sometimes, and the labouring John Dory 8 . 
Otherwise his life is so many fits of mirth, and 
tis some mirth to see him. A good feast shall 
draw him five miles by the nose, and you 
shall track him again by the scent. His other 
pilgrimages are fairs and good houses, where 
his devotion is great to the Christmas; and 
no man loves good times better. He is in 
league with the tapsters for the worshipful of 
the inn, whom he torments next morning with 
his art, and has their names more perfect than 
their men. A new song is better to him than a 
new jacket, especially if bawdy, which he calls 
merry ; and hates naturally the puritan, as an 
enemy to this mirth. A country wedding and 

s Probably the name of some difficult tuue. 



171 

Whitson-ale are the two main places he domi* 
neers in, where he goes for a musician, and over- 
looks the bag-pipe. The rest of him is drunk, 
and in the stocks. 



LXIV. 

A meddling man 

Is one that has nothing to do with his busi- 
ness, and yet no man busier than he, and his 
business is most in his face. He is one thrusts 
himself violently into all employments, unsent 
for, unfeed, and many times unthanked ; and 
his part in it is only an eager bustling, that ra- 
ther keeps ado than does any thing. He will 
take you aside, and question you of your affair, 
and listen with both ears, and look earnestly, 



172 

and then it is nothing so much yours as his. 
He snatches what you are doing out of your 
hands, and cries " give it me," and does it 
worse, and lays an engagement upon you too, 
and you must thank him for this pains. He 
lays you down an hundred wild plots, all im- 
possible things, which you must be ruled by 
perforce, and he delivers them with a serious 
and counselling forehead ; and there is a great 
deal more wisdom in this forehead than his 
head. He will woo for you, solicit for you, 
and woo you to suffer him; and scarce any 
thing done, wherein his letter, or his journey, 
or at least himself is not seen : if he have no 
task in it else, he will rail yet on some side, and 
is often beaten when lie need not. Such men 
never thoroughly weigh any business, but are 
forward only to shew their zeal, when many times 
this forwardness spoils it, and then they cry they 
have done what they can, that is, as much hurt. 
Wise men still deprecate these men's kindnesses, 



173 

and are beholden to them rather to let them 
alone ; as being one trouble more in all business, 
and which a man shall be hardest rid of. 



LXV. 

A good old man 

Is the best antiquity, and which we may with 
least vanity admire. One whom time hath 
been thus long a working, and like winter fruit, 
ripened when others are shaken down. He hath 
taken out as many lessons of the world as days, 
and learnt the best thing in it ; the vanity of it. 
He looks over his former life as a danger well 
past, and would not hazard himself to begin 
again. His lust was long broken before his 
body, yet he is glad this temptation is broke 



174 

too, and that he is fortified from it by this 
weakness. The next door of death sads him 
not, but he expects it calmly as his turn in na- 
ture; and fears more his recoiling back to 
childishness than dust. All men look on him as 
a common father, and on old age, for his sake, 
as a reverent thing. His very presence and 
face puts vice out of countenance, and makes it 
an indecorum in a vicious man. He practises 
his experience on youth without the harshness 
of reproof, and in his counsel his good com- 
pany. He has some old stories still of his own 
seeing to confirm what he says, and makes them 
better in the telling ; yet is not troublesome nei- 
ther with the same tale again, but remembers 
with them how oft he has told them. His 
old sayings and morals seem proper to his 
beard ; and the poetry of Cato does well out of 
his mouth, and he speaks it as if he were the 
author. He is not apt to put the boy on a 
younger man, nor the fool on a boy, but can 



175 

distinguish gravity from a sour look ; and the 
less testy he is, the more regarded. You must 
pardon him if he like his own times better than 
these, because those things are follies to him 
now that were wisdom then ; yet he makes us 
of that opinion too when we see him, and con- 
jecture those times by so good a relick. He is 
a man capable of a dearness with the youngest 
men, yet he not youthfuller for them, but 
they older for him ; and no man credits more 
his acquaintance. He goes away at last too 
soon whensoever, with all men's sorrow but 
his own ; and his memory is fresh, when it is 
twice as old. 



176 



LXVI. 

A Jlatterer 

Is the picture of a friend, and as pictures 
flatter many times, so he oft shews fairer than 
the true substance : his look, conversation, com- 
pany, and all the outwardness of friendship 
more pleasing by odds, for a true friend dare 
take the liberty to be sometimes offensive, 
whereas he is a great deal more cowardly, 
and will not let the least hold go, for fear of 
losing you. Your meer sour look affrights 
him, and makes him doubt his casheering. 
And this is one sure mark of him, that he is 
never first angry, but ready though upon his 
own wrong to make satisfaction. Therefore he 
is never yoked with a poor man, or any that 
stands on the lower ground, but whose fortunes 
may tempt his pains to deceive him. Him 



177 

he learns first, and learns well, and grows per- 
fecter in his humours than himself, and by this 
door enters upon his soul, of which he is able 
at last to take the very print and mark, and 
fashion his own by it, like a false key to open 
all your secrets. All his affections jump 9 even 
with your's ; he is before-hand with your 
thoughts, and able to suggest them unto you. 
He will commend to you first what he knows 
you like, and has always some absurd story or 
other of your enemy, and then wonders how 
your two opinions should jump in that man. 
He will ask your counsel sometimes as a man of 
deep judgment, and has a secret of purpose to 



9 Jump here signifies to coincide. The old play of 
Soliman and Perseda, 4to. without date, uses it in the 
same sense : 

" Wert thou my friend, thy mind would jump with 
mine." 

So in Pierce Peniksse his Supplication to the Divek :— 
*' Not two of them jump in one tale." p. 29. 

N 



178 

disclose to you, and, whatsoever you say^ is per- 
suaded. He listens to your words with great 
attention, and sometimes will object that you 
may confute him^ and then protests he never 
heard so much before. A piece of wit bursts 
him with an overflowing laughter, and he re- 
members it for you to all companies, and 
laughs again in the telling. He is one never 
chides you but for yourvertues, as, you arc too 
good, too honest, too religious, when his chid- 
ing may seem but the earnester commendation, 
and yet would fain chide you out of them too ; 
for your vice is the thing he has use of, and 
wherein you may best use him ; and he is never 
more active than in the worst diligences. Thus, 
at last, he possesses you from yourself, and then 
expects but his hire to betray you : and it is a 
happiness not to discover him ; for as long as 
you are happy, you shall not. 






179 



LXVIL 

A high-spirited man 
h one that looks like a proud man, but is not i 
you may forgive him his looks for his worth's 
sake, for they are only too proud to be base. 
One whom no rate can buy off from the least 
piece of his freedom, and make him digest an 
unworthy thought an hour. He cannot crouch 
to a great man to possess him, nor fall low r to 
the earth to rebound never so high again. He 
stands taller on his own bottom, than others on 
the advantage ground of fortune, as having so- 
lidly that honour, of which title is but the 
pomp. He does homage to no man for his 
great stile's sake, but is strictly just in the ex- 
action of respect again, and will not bate you a 
complement. He is more sensible of a neglect 
than an undoing, and scorns no man so much 
n 2 



180 

as his surly threatener. A man quickly fired, 
and quickly laid down with satisfaction, but 
remits any injury sooner than words : only to 
himself he is irreconcileable, whom he never 
forgives a disgrace, but is still stabbing himself 
with the thought of it, and no disease that he 
dies of sooner. He is one had rather perish 
than be beholden for his life, and strives more 
to be quit with his friend than his enemy. For- 
tune may kill him but not deject him, nor 
make him fall into an humbler key than be- 
fore, but he is now loftier than ever in his own 
defence; you shall hear him talk still after 
thousands, and he becomes it better than those 
that have it. One that is above the world and 
its drudgery, and cannot pulldown his thoughts 
to the pelting businesses of life. He would 
sooner accept the gallows than a mean trade, 
or any thing that might disparage the height of 
man in him, and yet thinks no death compara- 
bly base to hanging neither. One that will do 



181 

nothing upon command, though he would do it 
otherwise ; and if ever he do evil, it is when he 
is dared to it. He is one that if fortune equal 
his worth puts a luster in all preferment ; but if 
otherwise he be too much crossed, turns despe- 
rately melancholy, and scorns mankind. 



LXVI11. 

A meer gull citizen 
Is one much about the same model and pitch 
of brain that the clown is, only of somewhat a 
more polite and finical ignorance, and as sillily 
scorns him as he is sillily admired by him. 
The quality of the city hath afforded him some 
better dress of clothes and language, which he 
uses to the best advantage, and is so much the 



182 

more ridiculous. His chief education is the 
visits of his shop, where if courtiers and fine 
ladies resort, he is infected with so much more 
eloquence, and if he catch one word extraordi- 
nary, wears it for ever. You shall hear him 
mince a complement sometimes that was never 
made for him ; and no man pays dearer for 
good words, — for he is oft paid with them. 
He is suited rather fine than in the fashion, and 
has still something to distinguish him from a 
gentleman, though his doublet cost more ; 
especially on Sundays, bridegroom-like, where 
he carries the state of a very solemn man, and 
keeps bis pew as his shop ; and it is a great 
part of his devotion to feast the minister. But 
his chiefest guest is a customer, which is the 
greatest relation he acknowledges, especially if 
you be an honest gentleman, that is trust him to 
cozen you enough. His friendships are a kind 
of gossipping friendships, and those commonly 
within the circle of his trade, wherein he is 



183 

careful principally to avoid two things, that is 
poor men and suretiships. He is a man will 
spend his six-pence with a great deal of impu- 
tation 10 , and no man makes more of a pint of 
wine than he. He is one bears a pretty kind of 
foolish love to scholars, and to Cambridge es- 
pecially for Sturbridge * fair's sake ; and of 
these all are truants to him that are not preach- 
ers, and of these the loudest the best ; and he 
is much ravished with the noise of a rolling 
tongue. He loves to hear discourses out of his 

10 Imputation here must be used for consequence; of 
which I am, however, unable to produce any other in- 
stance. 

1 Sturbridgefair was the great mart for business, and 
resort for pleasure, in bishop Earle's day. It is alluded 
to in Randolph's Conceited Fedlar, 4to. 1630. 

"lama pedlar, and I sell my ware 

This braue Saint Barthol. or Sturbridge /aire." 

Edward Ward, the facetious author of The London Spy, 
gives a whimsical account of a journey to Sturbridge, in 
the second volume of his works. 



184 

element, and the less he understands the better 
pleased, which he expresses in a smile and 
some fond protestation. One that does nothing 
without his chuck % that is his wife, with 
whom he is billing still in conspiracy, and the 
wantoner she is, the more power she has over 
him; and she never stoops so low after him, 
but is the only woman goes better of a widow 
than a maid. In the education of his child no 
man fearfuller, and the danger he fears is a 
harsh school-master, to whom he is alledging 
still the weakness of the boy, and pays a fine 
extraordinary for his mercy. The first whip- 
ping rids him to the university, and from 
thence rids him again for fear of starving, and 
the best he makes of him is some gull in plush. 

2 This silly term of endearment appears to be derived 
from chick, or my chicken. Shakspeare uses it in 
Macbeth, Act iii. Scene 2. 

" Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck." 



185 

He is one loves to hear the famous acts of citi- 
zens, whereof the gilding of the cross 3 he 
counts the glory of this age, and the four 4 pren- 



3 The great cross in West Cheap, was originally 
erected in 1290, by Edward I. in commemoration of the 
death of queen Ellinor, whose body rested at that place, 
on its journey from Herdeby, in Lincolnshire, to West- 
minster, for interment. It was rebuilt in 1441, and 
again in 1484. In 1581, the images and ornaments 
were destroyed by the populace; and in 1599, the top of 
the cross was taken down, the timber being rotted 
within the lead, and fears being entertained as to its 
safety. By order of queen Elizabeth, and her privy 
council, it was repaired in 1600, when, says Stow, " a 
cross of limber was framed, set up, covered with lead, 
and gilded" &c. Stow's Survey of London, by Strype, 
book iii. p. 35. Edit, folio, Lond. 1720. 

4 This must allude to the play written by Hey wood 
with the following title : The Foure Prentises of London, 
With the Conquest of Ierusalem. As it hath bene diuerse 
times acted at the Red Bull, by the Queene's Maiesties 
Seruants. 4to. Lond. 1615. In this drama, ihe four 
prentises are Godfrey, Grey, Charles, and Eustace, sons 
to the old Earle qfBullen, who, having lost his territo- 
ries, by assisting William the Conqueror in his descent 
upon England, is compelled to live like a private citizen 
in London, and binds his sons to a mercer, a gold- 



186 

tices of London above all the nine 5 worthies. 
He intitles himself to all the merits of his com- 
pany, whether schools, hospitals, or exhibitions, 
in which he is joint benefactor, though four 



smith, a haberdasher, and a grocer. The four prentises, 
however, prefer the life of a soldier to that of a trades- 
man, and, quitting the service of their masters, follow 
Robert of Normandy to the holy land, where they per 7 
form the most astonishing feats of valour, and finally 
accomplish the conquest of Jerusalem. The whole play 
abounds in bombast and impossibilities, and, as a com- 
position, is unworthy of notice or remembrance. 

5 The History of the Nine Worthies of the World; 
three whereof were Gentiles : 1. Hector, son of Priamus, 
king of Troy. 2. Alexander the Great, king of Macedon, 
and conqueror of the world. 3. Julius Casar, first emperor 
of Rome. Three Jews. 4. Joshua, captain general and 
leader of Israel into Canaan. 5. David, king of Israel. 
6. Judas Maccabeus, a valiant Jewish commander against 
the tyranny of Antiochus. Three Christians. 7. Arthur, 
king of Britain, who courageously defended his country 
against the Saxons, 8. Charles the Great, king of France 
and emperor of Germany, 9. Godfrey of Bullcn, king of 
Jerusalem. Being an account of their glorious lives, 
worthy actions, renowned victories, and deaths, 12mo» 
No date. 



187 

hundred years ago, and upbraids them far 
more than those that gave them : yet with all 
this folly he has wit enough to get wealth, and 
in that a sufficienter man than he that is wiser. 



LXIX. 

A lascivious man 
Is the servant he says of many mistresses, but 
all are but his lust, to which only he is faithful, 
and none besides, and spends his best blood and 
spirits in the service. His soul is the bawd to 
his body, and those that assist him in this na- 
ture the nearest to it. No man abuses more the 
name of love, or those whom he applies this 
name to ; for his love is like his stomach to feed 
on what he loves, and the end of it to surfeit and 



188 

loath, till a fresh appetite rekindle him ; and it 
kindles on any sooner than who deserve best of 
him. There is a great deal of malignity in this 
vice, for it loves still to spoil the best things, and 
a virgin sometimes rather than beauty, because 
the undoing here is greater, and consequently his 
glory. No man laughs more at his sin than he, 
or is so extremely tickled with the remembrance 
of it; and he is more violence to a modest ear 
than to her he defloured. A bawdy jest enters 
deep into him, and whatsoever you speak he 
will draw to baudry, and his wit is never so 
good as here. His unchastest part is his tongue, 
for that commits always what he must act sel- 
domer ; and that commits with all which he acts 
with few ; for he is his own worst reporter, and 
men believe as bad of him, and yet do not be- 
lieve him. Nothing harder to his persuasion 
than a chaste man, no eunuch ; and makes a 
scoffing miracle at it, if you tell him of a maid. 
And from this mistrust it is that such men fear 



189 

marriage, or at least marry such as are of bodies 
to be trusted, to whom only they sell that lust 
which they buy of others, and make their wife 
a revenue to their mistress. They are men not 
easily reformed, because they are so little ili-per- 
suaded of their illness, and have such pleas 
from man and nature. Besides it is a jeering 
and flouting vice, and apt to put jests on the 
reprover. The pox only converts them, and 
that only when it kills them. 



LXX. 

A rash man 
Is a man too quick for himself; one whose 
actions put a leg still before his judgement, and 
out-run it. Every hot fancy or passion is the 



190 

signal that sets him forward, and his reason 
comes still in the rear. One that has brain 
enough, but not patience to digest a business, 
and stay the leisure of a second thought 
All deliberation is to him a kind of sloth and 
freezing of action, and it shall burn him ra- 
ther than take cold, fie is always resolved 
at first thinking, and the ground he goes 
upon is, hap what may. Thus he enters not, 
but throws himself violently upon all things, 
and for the most part is as violently upon all oft* 
again; and as an obstinate " I will" was the 
preface to his undertaking, so his conclusion is 
commonly " I would I had not " for such 
men seldom do any thing that they are not 
forced to take in pieces again, and are so much 
farther off from doing it, as they have done al- 
ready. His friends are with him as his phy- 
sician, sought to only in his sickness and ex- 
tremity, and to help him out of that mire he has 
plunged himself into ; for in the suddenness of 



191 

his passions he would hear nothing, and now 
his ill success has allayed him he hears too late. 
He is a man still swayed with the first reports, 
and no man more in the power of a pick-thank 
than he. He is one will fight first, and then ex- 
postulate, condemn first, and then examine. 
He loses his friend in a fit of quarrelling, 
and in a fit of kindness undoes himself; and 
then curses the occasion drew this mischief 
upon him, and cries, God mercy! for it, 
and curses again. His repentance is meerly a 
rage against himself, and he does something in 
itself to be repented again. He is a man whom 
fortune must go against much to make him 
happy, for had he been suffered his own way, 
he had been undone. 



192 



LXXI. 

An affected man 
Is an extraordinary man in ordinary things. 
One that would go a strain beyond himself, 
and is taken in it. A man that overdoes all 
things with great solemnity of circumstance ; 
and whereas with more negligence he might 
pass better, makes himself with a great deal of 
endeavour ridiculous. The fancy of some odd 
quaintnesses have put him clean beside his na- 
ture ; he cannot be that he would, and hath lost 
what he was. He is one must be point-blank 
in every trifle, as if his credit and opinion hung 
upon it ; the very space of his arms in an em- 
brace studied before and premeditated, and the 
figure of his countenance of a fortnight's con- 
triving ; he will not curse you without-book and 
extempore, but in some choice way, and per- 



193 

haps as some great man curses. Every action 
of his cries, — u Do ye mark me?" and men do 
mark him how absurd he is : for affectation is 
the most betraying humour, and nothing that 
puzzles a man less to find out than this. All 
the actions of his life are like so many things 
bodged in without any natural cadence or con- 
nection at all. You shall track him all through 
like a school-boy's theme, one piece from one 
author and this from another, and join all in this 
general, that they are none of his own. You 
shall observe his mouth not made for that tone, 
nor his face for that simper ; and it is his luck 
that his finest things most misbecome him. If 
he affect the gentleman as the humour most 
commonly lies that way, not the least punctilio 
of a fine man, but he is strict in to a hair, even to 
their very negligences, which he cons as rules. 
He will not carry a knife with him to wound 
reputation, and pay double a reckoning, rather 
than ignobly question it : and he is full of this — 



194 

ignobly — and nobly — and genteely ; — and this 
nicer fear to trespass against the genteel way 
puts him out most of all. It is a humour runs 
through many things besides, but is an ill- 
favoured ostentation in all, and thrives not : — 
and the best use of such men is, they are good 
parts in a play. 



LXXL 

A profane man 
Is one that denies God as far as the law gives 
him leave; that is, only does not say so in 
downright terms, for so far he may go. A man 
(hat does the greatest sins calmly, and as the or- 
dinary actions of life, and as calmly discourses 
»f it again. lie will tell you his business is 



195 

to break such a commandment, and the break- 
ing of the commandment shall tempt him to it. 
His words are but so many vomitings cast up to 
the loathsomeness of the hearers, only those of 
his company 6 loath it not. He will take upon 
him with oaths to pelt some tenderer man out of 
his company, and makes good sport at his con« 
quest over the puritan fool. The scripture 
supplies him for jests, and he reads it on pur- 
pose to be thus merry : he will prove you hh 
sin out of the bible, and then ask if you will 
not take that authority. He never sees the 
church but of purpose to sleep in it, or when 
some silly man preaches, with whom he means 
to make sport, and is most jocund in the church. 
One that nick-names clergymen with all the 
terms of reproach, as " rat, black-coat," and 
the like ; which he will be sure to keep up, and 
never calls them by other: that sings psalms 

6 Those of the same habits with himself; his associ* 

ates. 

o2 



196 

when he is drunk, and cries tc God mercy" in 
mockery, for he must do it. He is one seems 
to dare God in all his actions, but indeed would 
out-dare the opinion of him, which would else 
turn him desperate ; for atheism is the refuge of 
such sinners, whose repentance would be only 
to hang themselves. 



LXXI1I. 

A coward 
Is the man that is commonly most fierce 
against the coward, and labouring to take off 
this suspicion from himself; for the opinion of 
valour is a good protection to those that dare 
not use it. No man is valianter than he is in 
civil company, and where he thinks no danger 



197 

may come on it, and is the readiest man to fall 
upon a drawer and those that must not strike 
again; wonderful exceptious and cholerick 
where he sees men are loth to give him occa- 
sion, and you cannot pacify him better than by 
quarrelling with him. The hotter you grow, 
the more temperate man is he ; he protests he 
always honoured you, and the more you rail 
upon him, the more he honours you, and you 
threaten him at last into a very honest quiet 
man. The sight of a sword wounds him more 
sensibly than the stroke, for before that come he 
is dead already. Every man is his master that 
dare beat him, and every man dares that knows 
him. And he that dare do this is the only 
man can do much with him ; for his friend he 
cares not for, as a man that carries no such ter- 
ror as his enemy, which for this cause only is 
more potent with him of the two : and men fall 
out with him of purpose to get courtesies from 
him, and be bribed again to a reconcilement. 



198 

A man in whom no secret can be bound up, for 
the apprehension of each danger loosens him, 
and makes him bewray both the room and it. 
He is a christian meerly for fear of hell-fire ; 
and if any religion could fright him more, 
would be of that. 



LXXIV. 

A sordid rich man 
Is a beggar of a fair estate, of whose wealth 
we may say as of other men's unthriftiness, that 
it has brought him to this : when he had nothing 
he lived in another kind of fashion. He is a 
man whom men hate in his own behalf for using 
himself thus, and yet, being upon himself, it is 
but justice, for he deserves it. Every acces- 



199 

sion of a fresh heap bates him so much of his 
allowance, and brings him a degree nearer starv- 
ing. His body had been long since desperate, 
but for the reparation of other men's tables, 
where he hoards meats in his belly for a month, 
to maintain him in hunger so long. His clothes 
were never young in our memory ; you might 
make long epochas from them, and put them 
into the almanack with the dear year 7 and the 



7 The dear year here, I believe, alluded to, was in 
1574, and is thus described by that faithful and valuable 
historian Holinshed: — "This yeare, about Lammas, 
wheat was sold at London for three shillings the bushell : 
but shortlie after, it was raised to foure shillings, fiue 
shillings, six shillings, and, before Christmas, to a 
noble, and seuen shillings ; which so continued long 
after. Beefe was sold for twentie pence, and two and 
twentie pence the stone; and all other flesh and white 
meats at an excessiue price; all kind of salt fish verie 
deare, as fiue herings two pence, &c. ; yet great plentie 
of fresh fish, and oft times the same verie cheape. 
Pease at foure shillings the bushell; ote-meale at 
foure shillings eight pence; baie salt at three shillings 
the bushell, &c. All this dearth notwithstanding, 



200 

great frost 8 , and he is known by them longer 
than his face. He is one never gave alms in his 
life, and yet is as charitable to his neighbour as 
himself. He will redeem a penny with his re- 
putation, and lose all his friends to boot; and 
his reason is, he will not be undone. He never 
pays any thing but with strictness of law, for 
fear of which only he steals not. He loves to 
pay short a shilling or two in a great sum, and 
is glad to gain that when he can no more. He 
never sees friend but in a journey to save the 
charges of an inn, and then only is not sick ; 
and his friends never see him but to abuse him. 



(thanks be given to God,) there was no want of anie 
thing to them that wanted not monie." Holinshed, 
Chronicle, vol. 3, page 1259, a. edit, folio, 1587. 

8 On the 21st of December, 1564, began a frost re- 
ferred to by Fleming, in his Index to Holinshed, as the 
" frost called the great frost" which lasted till the 3rd of 
January, 1565. It was so severe that the Thames was 
frozen over, and the passage on it, from London-bridge 
to Westminster, as easy as, and more frequented than 
that on dry land. 



201 

He is a fellow indeed of a kind of frantick 
thrift, and one of the strangest things that wealth 
can work. 



LXXV, 



A meer great man 



Is so much heraldry without honour, himself 
less real than his title. His virtue is, that he 
was his father's son, and all the expectation of 
him to beget another. A man that lives meerly 
to preserve another's memory, and let us know 
who died so many years ago. One of just as 
much use as his images, only he differs in this, 
that he can speak himself, and save the fellow 
of Westminster 9 a labour : and he remembers 

9 The person who exhibits Westminster abbey. 



202 

nothing better than what was out of his life. 
His grandfathers and their acts are his dis- 
course, and he tells them with more glory than 
they did them ; and it is well they did enough. 
or else he had wanted matter. His other studies 
are his sports and those vices that are fit for 
great men. Every vanity of his has his officer, 
and is a serious employment for his servants. 
He talks loud, and baudily, and scurvily as a 
part of state, and they hear him with reve- 
rence. All good qualities are below him, and 
especially learning, except some parcels of the 
chronicle and the writing of his name, which he 
learns to write not to be read . He is meerly of 
his servants' faction, and their instrument for 
their friends and enemies, and is always least 
thanked for his own courtesies. They that fool 
him most do most with him, and he little thinks 
how many laugh at him bare-head. No man is 
kept in ignorance more of himself and men, for 
he hears nought but flattery; and what is fit to 



203 

be spoken, truth with so much preface that it 
loses itself. Thus he lives till his tomb be made 
ready, and is then a grave statue to posterity. 



LXXVL 

A poor man 
Is the most impotent man, though neither 
blind nor lame, as wanting the more necessary 
limbs of life, without which limbs are a burden. 
A man unfenced and unsheltered from the gusts 
of the world, which blow all in upon him, like 
an unroofed house ; and the bitterest thing he 
suffers is his neighbours. All men put on to him 
a kind of churlisher fashion, and even more 
plausible natures are churlish to him, as who 
are nothing advantaged by his opinion. Whom 



204 

men fall out with before-hand to prevent friend- 
ship, and his friends too to prevent engage- 
ments, or if they own him 'tis in private and a 
by-room, and on condition not to know them 
before company. All vice put together is not 
half so scandalous, nor sets off our acquaintance 
farther ; and even those that are not friends for 
ends do not love any dearness with such men. 
The least courtesies are upbraided to him, 
and himself thanked for none, but his best ser- 
vices suspected as handsome sharking and 
tricks to get money. And we shall observe it 
in knaves themselves, that your beggarliest 
knaves are the greatest, or thought so at least, 
for those that have wit to thrive by it have art 
not to seem so. Now a poor man has not vizard 
enough to mask his vices, nor ornament enough 
to set forth his virtues, but both are naked and 
unhandsome ; and though no man is necessitat- 
ed to more ill, yet no man's ill is less excused, 
but it is thought a kind of impudence in him to 



205 

be vicious, and a presumption above his for- 
tune. His good parts lye dead upon his hands, 
for want of matter to employ them, and at the 
best are not commended but pitied, as virtues 
ill placed, and we may say of him, u Tis an 
honest man, but tis pity;" and yet those that 
call him so will trust a knave before him. He 
is a man that has the truest speculation of the 
world, because all men shew to him in their 
plainest and worst, as a man they have no plot 
on, by appearing good to; whereas rich men 
are entertained with a more holy-day behaviour, 
and see only the best we can dissemble. He is 
the only he that tries the true strength of wis- 
dom, what it can do of itself without the help of 
fortune ; that with a great deal of virtue con- 
quers extremities, and with a great deal more 
his own impatience, and obtains of himself not 
to hate men. 



206 



LXXVII. 

An ordinary honest man 
Is one whom it concerns to be called honest, 
for if he were not this, he were nothing : and jet 
he is not this neither, but a good dull vicious 
fellow, that complies well with the deboshments l0 
of the time, and is fit for it. One that has no 
good part in him to offend his company, or 
make him to be suspected a proud fellow ; but 
is sociably a dunce, and sociably a drinker. 
That does it fair and above-board without leger- 
main, and neither sharks " for a cup or a rec- 

10 Minshew interprets the verb dcboshe, " to corrupt, 
make lewde, vitiate." When the word was first adopted 
from the French language, (says Mr. Steevens, in a 
note to the Toupest,) it appears to have been spelt ac- 
cording to the pronunciation, and therefore wrongly; 
but ever since it has been spelt right, it has been uttered 
with equal impropriety. 

i The verb to shark is frequently used, by old writers, 
for to pilfer, and, as in the present instance, to spungc. 



207 

koning : that is kind over his beer, and protests 
he loves you, and begins to you again, and 
loves you again. One that quarrels with no 
man, but for not pledging him, but takes all 
absurdities and commits as many, and is no 
tell-tale next morning, though he remember it. 
One that will fight for his friend if he hear him 
abused, and his friend commonly is he that is 
most likely, and he lifts up many a jug in his 
defence. He rails against none but censurers, 
against whom he thinks he rails lawfully, and 
censurers are all those that are better than him- 
self. These good properties qualify him for 
honesty enough, and raise him high in the ale- 
house commendation, who, if he had any other 
good quality, would be named by that. But 
now for refuge he is an honest man, and here- 
after a sot : only those that commend him think 
him not so, and those that commend him arft 
honest fellows. 



208 



LXXVllL 

A suspicious or jealous man 
Is one that watches himself a mischief, and 
keeps a lear eye still, for fear it should escape 
him. A man that sees a great deal more in 
every thing than is to be seen, and yet he thinks 
he sees nothing : his own eye stands in his 
light. He is a fellow commonly guilty of some 
weaknesses, which he might conceal if he were 
careless : — now his over-diligence to hide them 
makes men pry the more. Howsoever he ima- 
gines you have found him, and it shall go hard 
but you must abuse him whether you will or no. 
Not a word can be spoke, but nips him some- 
where ; not a jest thrown out, but he will make 
it hit him. You shall have him go fretting out 
of company, with some twenty quarrels to every 
man, stung and galled, and no man knows less 



209 

the occasion than they that have given it. To 
laugh before him is a dangerous matter, for it 
cannot be at any thing but at him, and to whis*. 
per in his company plain conspiracy. He bids 
you speak out, and he will answer you, when 
you thought not of him. He expostulates with 
you in passion, why you should abuse him, 
and explains to your ignorance wherein, and 
gives you very good reason at last to laugh at 
him hereafter. He is one still accusing others 
when they are not guilty, and defending him- 
self when he is not accused : and no man is un- 
done more with apologies, wherein he is so ela- 
borately excessive, that none will believe him ; 
and he is never thought worse of, than when he 
has given satisfaction. Such men can never 
have friends, because they cannot trust so far ; 
and this humour hath this infection with it, it 
makes all men to them suspicious. In conclu- 
sion, they are men always in offence and vexa« 



210 

lion with themselves and their neighbours, 
wronging others in thinking they would wrong 
them, and themselves most of all in thinking 
they deserve it. 



END OF THE CHARACTERS. 



APPENDIX. 



APPENDIX. 



No. I. 

SOME ACCOUNT OF BISHOP EARLE 



All the biographical writers who have taken 
notice of John Earle agree in stating, that he 
was born in the city of York, although not one 

* The following brief memoir pretends to be nothing 
more than an enumeration of such particulars relative to 
the excellent prelate, whose Characters are here offered to 
the public, as could be gathered from the historical and 
biographical productions of the period in which he flou- 
rished. It is hoped that no material occurrence has 
been overlooked, or circumstance mis-stated; but should 
any errors appear to have escaped his observation, the 
editor will feel obliged by the friendly intimation of 
such persons as may be possessed of more copious in- 
formation than he has been able to obtain, in order that 
they may be acknowledged and corrected in another 
place. 

p2 



212 

of them has given the exact date of his birth, or 
-j,jj any intelligence re lative to hi s, family, or the 
rank in life of his parents. It is, however, most 
probable, that they were persons of respectabi- 
lity and fortune, as he was sent, at an early 
age, to Oxford, and entered as a commoner of 
Christ-church college *, where his conduct was 
so exemplary, his attention to his studies so 
marked, and his general deportment and man- 
ners so pleasing, that he became a successful 
candidate at Merton-college, and was admitted 
a probationary fellow on that foundation in 
1620, being then, according to Wood t, about 
nineteen years of age. He took the degree of 
Master of Arts, July 10, 1624, and in 1631 
served the office of Proctor of the university, 
about which time he was also appointed chap- 
lain to Philip Earl of Pembroke, then Chancel* 
lor of Oxford. 

* He took the degree of Bachelor of Arts whilst a 
member of this society, July 8, 1619, and appears to 
have been always attached to it. In 16G0 he gave 
twenty pounds towards repairing the cathedral and col* 
lege. 

Wood. Hist, et Antiq. Univ. Oxon. lib. ii. p. 284. 

f Athena Oxon. ii. 365. 



213 

During the earlier part of our author's life, 
he appears to have possessed considerable re- 
putation as a poet, and to have been as remark- 
able for the pleasantry of his conversation, as 
for his learning, virtues, and piety. Wood* 
tells us that u his younger years were adorned 
with oratory, poetry, and witty fancies, his 
elder with quaint preaching and subtile dis- 
putes." The only specimens of his poetry 
which can be recovered at this time, are three 
funeral tributes, which will be found in the 
Appendix, and of which two are now printed, 
I believe, for the first time. 

Soon after his appointment to be Lord Pem- 
broke's chaplain, he was presented by that no- 
bleman to the rectory of Bishopstone, in Wilt- 
shire ; nor was this the only advantage he 
reaped from the friendship of his patron, who 
being at that time Lord Chamberlain of the 
King's household +, was entitled to a lodging in 
the court for his chaplain, a circumstance which 
in all probability introduced Mr, Earle to the 
notice of the King, who promoted him to be 

* Athena Oxon, ii. 365. 
t Collins* Peerage, iii, 123, 



214 

chaplain and tutor to Prince Charles, when Dr. 
Duppa, who had previously discharged that 
important trust, was raised to the bishopric of 
Salisbury. 

In 1642 Earle took his degree of Doctor in 
Divinity, and in the year following was actually 
elected one of the Assembly of Divines appointed 
by the parliament to new model the church. 
This office, although it may be considered a 
proof of the high opinion even those of different 
sentiments from himsef entertained of his cha- 
racter and merit, he refused to accept, when he 
saw that there was no probability of assisting 
the cause of religion, or of restraining the vio- 
lence of a misguided faction, by an interference 
among those who were " declared and avowed 
enemies to the doctrine and discipline of the 
Church of England ; some of them infamous 
in their lives and conversations, and most of 
them of very mean parts in learning, if not of 
scandalous ignorance *." 

On the 10th of February, 1643, Dr. Earle 
was elected chancellor of the cathedral of Sa* 

* Clarendon. History of the Rebellion, ii. 827. Edit. 
Oxford, 1807. 



215 



lisbury *, of which situation, as well as his 
living of Bishopstone, he was shortly after de- 
prived by the ill success of the royal cause +. 

When the defeat of the King's forces at Wor- 
cester compelled Charles the Second to fly his 
country, Earle attached himself to the fallen 
fortunes of his sovereign, and was among the 
first of those who saluted him upon his arrival 
at Rouen in Normandy, where he was made 
clerk of the closet, and King's chaplain^. 
Nor was his affection to the family of the 
Stuarts, and his devotion to their cause evinced 
by personal services only, as we find by a letter 
from Lord Clarendon to Dr. Barwick, that he 

* Walker. Sufferings of the Clergy, fol. 1714, part ii. 
page 63. 

f During the early part of the civil wars, and whilst 
success was doubtful on either side, he appears to have 
lived in retirement, and to have employed himself in a 
translation of Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity into Latin, 
which, however, was never made public. At the appear- 
ance of Charles the First's Emuv BxaXuin^e was desired 
by the king(Ch. II.) to execute the same task upon that 
production, which he performed with great ability. It 
was printed for distribution on the continent in 1649, 

$ Wood. Ath. Oxon, ji. 365. 



216 

assisted the King with money in his necessi- 
ties *. 

During the time that Charles was in Scotland, 
Dr. Earle resided at Antwerp, with his friend 
Dr. Morley +, from whence he was called upon 
to attend the Duke of York (afterwards James 
II.) at Paris J, in order that he might heal some 
of the breaches which were then existing be- 
tween certain members of the duke's house- 
hold § ; and here it is probable he remained till 
the recal of Charles the Second to the throne of 
England. 

Upon the Restoration, Dr. Earle received 
the reward of his constancy and loyalty, he 
was immediately promoted to the deanery of 
"Westminster, a situation long designed for him 

* Life of Dr. John Barzoick, 8vo. Lond. 1724. p. 522. 

f Dr. George Morley was chaplain to Charles the 
first, and canon of Christ Church, Oxford. At the 
Restoration he was made, first dean of Christ Church, 
then bishop of Worcester, and lastly bishop of Win- 
chester. He died at Farnham-castle, October 29, 1684. 
See Wood. At hen. Oxon. ii. 581. 

% Wood. Athena, ii. 770. 

§ Clarendon's Rebellion, iii. 659* 



tut 

by the King *, In 1661 lie was appointed one 
of the commissioners for a review of the Li- 
turgy i, and on November SO, 1662, was con- 
secrated Bishop of Worcester, from which see 
he was translated, September 28, 1663, to the 
dignity of Salisbury J. 

Little more remains to be added. — Bishop 
Earle appears to fia^e continued his residence 
with the royal family after the acquisition of 
his well-deserved honours ; and when the court 
retired to Oxford, during the plague in 1665, 
he attended their majesties to the place of his 
early education, and died at his apartments in 
University College, on the 17th of November. 
He was buried on the 25th, near the high altar, 
in Merton College chapel ; and was, according 
to Wood, a accompanied to his grave, from 
the public schools, by an herald at arms, and 
the principal persons of the court and univer- 
sity." His monument, which stands at the 
north-east corner of the chapel, is still in excel- 
lent preservation, and possesses the following in* 
scription : — 

* Life ofBarwick, 452. 

t Rennet's Register, folio, 1728, page 504. 

I Wood. Athene, ii, 366. 



218 



" Amice, si quis hie sepultus est, roges, 

Ille, qui nee meruit unqua — Nee quod ma) us est, habuit 

Inimicum ; 

Qui potuit in aula vivere, et mundum spernere 

Concionator educatus inter principes, 

Et ipse facile princeps inter Concionatores, 

Evangelista indefessus, Episcopus pientissimus ; 

Ille qui una cum sacratissimo Rege, 

Cujus & juvenilium studiorum, et anima? Deo chara? 

Curam a beatissimo Patre demandatam gessit, 

Nobile ac Religiosum exilium est passus ; 

Ille qui Hookeri ingentis Politiam Ecclesiasticam, 

Ille qui Caroli Martyris EIKO'NA. BA2IAIKH V N, 

(Volumen quo post Apocalypsin divinius nullum) 

Legavit Orbi sic Latine redditas, 

Ut uterque unius Fidei Defensor, 

Patriam adhuc retineat majestatem. 

Si nomen ejus necdum tibi suboleat, Lector, 

Nomen ejus ut unguenta pretiosa: 

Johannes Earle Eboracensis, 

Serenissimo Carolo 2do Regij Oratorij Clericus, 

Jaliquando Westmonasteriensis Decanus, 
deindeWigomiensis ^ 
tandem Sarisburiensis > Angelus. 
et nunc triumphantis J 

< Doni : 1665to. 
Obiit Oxonij Novemb. 17?. Anno \ ^ ^ ^ 

Voluitq. in hoc, ubi olim floruerat, Collegia, 
Ex /£de Christi hue in Socium ascitus, 
Ver magnum, ut reflorescat, expectare." 



219 
No. II. 

CHARACTERS OF BISHOP EARLE. 



— <e He was a person very notable for his ele- 
gance in the Greek and Latin tongues; and being fellow 
of Merton college in Oxford, and having been proctor 
of the university, and some very witty and sharp dis- 
courses being published in print without his consent, 
though known to be his, he grew suddenly into a very 
general esteem with all men; being a man of great 
piety and devotion ; a most eloquent and powerful 
preacher; and of a conversation so pleasant and delight- 
ful, so very innocent, and so very facetious, that no 
man's company was more desired, and more loved. No 
man was more negligent in his dress, and habit, and 
mein ; no man more wary and cultivated in his beha- 
viour and discourse ; insomuch as he had the greater 
advantage when he was known, by promising so little 
before he was known. He was an excellent poet both 
in Latin, Greek, and English, as appears by many pieces 
yet abroad ; though he suppressed many more himself, 
especially of English, incomparably good, out of an 
austerity to those sallies of his youth. He was very 



220 



dear to the Lord Falkland, with whom he spent as 
much time as he could make his own ; and as that lord 
would impute the speedy progress he made in the Greek 
tongue to the information and assistance he had from Mr. 
Earles, so Mr. Earles would frequently profess that he 
had got more useful learning by his conversation at 
Tew (the Lord Falkland's house,) than he had at Oxford. 
In the first settling of the prince his family, he was 
made one of his chaplains, and attended on him when 
he was forced to leave the kingdom. He was amongst 
the few excellent men who never had, nor ever could 
have, an enemy, but such a one who was an enemy to 
all learning and virtue, and therefore would never make 
himself known." 

Lord Clarendon. Account of his oxen Life, folio, Ox- 
ford, 1759, p. 26. 



" This is thatDr.Earle, who from his youth 

(I had almost said from his childhood,) for his natural 
and acquired abilities was so very eminent in the uni- 
versity of Oxon ; and after was chosen to be one of the 
first chaplains to his Majesty (when Prince of Wales): 
who knew not how to desert his master, but with duty 
and loyalty (suitable to the rest of his many great vir- 
tues, both moral and intellectual,) faithfully attended his 
Majesty both at home and abroad, as chaplain, and 
clerk of his majesty's closet, and upon his majesty's 
happy return, was made Dean of Westminster, and now 



221 



Lord Bishop of Worcester, (for which, December 7, he 
did homage to his Majesty,) having this high and rare 
felicity by his excellent and spotless conversation, to 
have lived so many years in the court of England, so 
near his Majesty, and yet not given the least offence to 
any man alive ; though both in and out of pulpit he 
used all Christian freedom against the vanities of this 
age, being honoured and admired by all who have either 
known, heard, or read him." 

White Kennett (Bishop of Peterborough) Regis- 
ter and Chronicle Ecclesiastical and Civil, folio, 
London, 1728, page 834. 



-" Dr. Earle, now Lord Bishop of Salisbury, 



of whom I may justly say, (and let it not offend him, 
because it is such a truth as ought not to be concealed 
from posterity, or those that now live and yet know him 
not,) that, since Mr. Hooker died, none have lived whom 
God hath blessed with more innocent wisdom, more 
sanctified learning, or a more pious, peaceable, primi- 
tive temper : so that this excellent person seems to be 
only like himself, and our venerable Richard Hooker." 

Walton. Life of Mr. Richard Hooker, 8vo. Oxford, 
1805, i. 327. 



**— - « This Dr. Earles, lately Lord Bishop of Sails- 



, 



222 



bury. — A person certainly of the sweetest, most obliging 
nature that lived in our age." 

Huch Cressey. Epistle Apologetical to a Person of 
Honour (Lord Clarendon), 8vo. 1674, page 46. 



" Dr. Earle, Bishop of Salisbury, was a man 

that could do good against evil ; forgive much, and of a 
charitable heart." 

Pierce. Conformist' f s Plea for Nonconformity 9 4to. 
1681. page 174. 



223 
No. III. 

LIST OF DR. EARLE'S WORKS. 



1. Microcosmography, or a Piece of the World discovered, 
in Essays and Characters. London. 1628. &C.&C. 12mo. 

2. Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity, translated into Latin. 
This, says Wood, " is in MS. and not yet printed." 
In whose possession theMS. was does not appear, nor 
have I been able to trace it in the catalogue of any 
public or private collection. 

3. Hortus Mcrtonensis, a Latin Poem, of which Wood 
gives the first line " Hortus deliciae domus politae." 
It is now supposed to be lost. 

4. Lines on the Death of Sir John Burroughs ; now 
printed for the first time. See Appendix, No. IV. 

5. Lines on the Death of the Earl of Pembroke ; now 
printed for the first time. See Appendix, No. V. 

6. Elegy upon Francis Beaumont; first printed at the 
end of Beaumont's Poems, London, 1640. 4to. See 
Appendix, No. VI. 

7. E/xwv Bxai^iav, vel Imago Regis Caroli, In illis suis 
Mrumnis et Solitudine. Haga-Comitis. Typis S. B. &c. 
1649. 12mo. See Appendix, No. VII. * 

* Besides the pieces above noticed, several smaller poems 



■Were undoubtedly in circulation during Earle's life, the titles 
of which are not preserved. Wood supposes (Ath. Oxon.) 
our author to have contributed to " some of the. Figures, of 
which about ten were published," but is ignorant of the exact 
numbers to be attributed to his pen. In the Bodleian * is 
" The Figvre ofFovre: Wherein are sweet flowers, gathered 
out of that fruitfull ground, that I hope will yeeld pleasure and 
profit to all sorts of people. The second Part, London, Printed 
for lohn Wright, and are to bee sold at his shop without New- 
gate, at the signe of the Bible, 1636." This, however, was un- 
doubtedly one of Breton's productions, as his initials are af- 
fixed to the preface. It is in 12mo. and consists of twenty 
pages, not numbered. The following extracts will be suffi- 
cient to shew the nature of the volume. 

" There are foure persons not to be believed : a horse- 
courser when he sweares, a whore when shee weepes, a law- 
yer when he pleads false, and a traveller when he tels wonders. 

" There are foure great cyphers in the world : bee that is 
lame among dancers, dumbe among lawyers, dull among schol- 
ars, and rude amongst courtiers. 

" Foure things grievously empty : a head without braines, 
a wit without judgment, a heart without honesty, and a purse 
without money." 

Ant. Wood possessed the figure of six, which, however, is 
now not to be found among his books left to the university of 
Oxford, and deposited in Ashmole's museum. That it once was 
there, is evident from the MS. catalogue of that curious col- 
lection. 

* 8vo. L. 78. Art, 



225 
No. IV. 

LINES ON SIR JOHN BURROUGHS; 

KILLED BY A BULLET AT REEZ *. 

[From a MS. in the Bodleian.]— (RawU Poet. 142. ) 



Why did we thus expose thee? what's now all 

That island to requite thy funeral ? 

Though thousand French in murder'd heaps do lie, 

It may revenge, it cannot satisfy : 

We must bewail our conquest when we see 

Our price too dear to buy a victory. 

He whose brave fire gave heat to all the rest, 

That dealt his spirit in t' each English breast, 

From whose divided virtues you may take 

So many captains out, and fully make 

* For an account of the unsuccessful expedition to the Isle 
of Re, under the command of the Duke of Buckingham, 
see Carte's History of England, vol. iv. page 176, folio, Lond. 
1755. Sir John Burroughs, a general of considerable renown, 
who possessed the chief confidence of the Duke, fell in an en- 
deavour to reconnoitre, the works of the enemy, Aug. 1627. 
Q 



226 



Them each accomplished with those parts, the which, 

Jointly, did his well-furnish'd soul enrich. 

Not rashly valiant, nor yet fearful wise, 

His flame had counsel, and his fury, eyes. 

Not struck in courage at the drum's proud heat, 

Or made fierce only by the trumpet's heat — 

When e'en pale hearts above their pitch do fly, 

And, for a while do mad it valiantly. 

His rage was temper'd well, no fear could daunt 

His reason, his cold blood was valiant. 

Alas ! these vulgar praises injure thee; 

Which now a poet would as plenteously 

Give some brag-soldier, one that knew no more 

Than the fine scabbard and the scarf he wore. 

Fathers shall tell their children [this] was he, 

(And they hereafter to posterity,) 

Rank'd with those forces scourged France of old, 

Burrough's and Talbot's * names together told. 

J. Earles. 



* Sir John Talbot, first earl of Shrewsbury, of whom see 
Collins' Peerage, iii. 9. Holinshed, Rapin, Carte, &c. 



227 



No. V. 



ON THE DEATH OF THE EARL OF 
PEMBROKE*. 



[From the same MS.] 



Gome, Pembroke lives ! Oh ! do not fright our ears 
With the destroying truth ! first raise our fears 
And say he is not well: that will suffice 
To force a river from the public eyes, 
Or, if he must be dead, oh ! let the news 
Speak in astonish'd whispers : let it use 
Some phrase without a voice, and be so told, 
As if the labouring sense griev'd to unfold 
Its doubtfull woe. Could not the public zeal 
Conquer the Fates, and save your's ? Did the dart 
Of death, without a preface, pierce your heart? 
Welcome, sad weeds — but he that mourns for thee, 
Must bring an eye that can weep elegy. 

* William, third Earl of Pembroke, son of Henry, Earl of 
Pembroke, and Mary, sister to Sir Philip Sidney, was the el- 
der brother of Earle's patron, and Chancellor of Oxford. 
He died at Baynard's castle, April 10, 1630. 
Q 2 



22S 

A look that would save blacks : whose heavy grace 
Chicles mirth, and bears a funeral in his face. 
Whose sighs are with such feeling sorrows blown, 
That all the air he draws returns a groan. 
Thou need st no gilded tomb — thy memory, 
Is marble to itself— the bravery 
Of jem or rich enamel is mis-spent — 
Thy noble corpse is its own monument.! 

Mr. Earles, Merton. 



229 



No. VI. 



ON MR. BEAUMONT. 

WRITTEN THIRTY YEARS SINCE, PRESENTLY AFTER HIS 
DEATH. 

[From " Comedies and Tragedies written by Francis Beau- 
mont and John Fletcher, Gentlemen" folio. London. 
1647.] 



Beaumont lies here : And where now shall we have 
A muse like his to sigh upon his grave? 
Ah ! none to weep this with a worthy tear, 
But he that cannot, Beaumont that lies here. 
Who now shall pay thy tomb with such a verse 
As thou that lady's didst, fair Rutland's herse. 
A monument that will then lasting be, 
When all her lwarble is more dust than she. 
In thee all's lost -. a sudden dearth and want 
Hath seiz'd on wit, good epitaphs are scant. 
We dare not write thy elegy, whilst each fears 
He ne'er shall match that copy of thy tears. 
Scarce in an age a poet, and yet he 
Scarce live the third part of his age to see, 
But quickly taken off and only known, 
Is in a minute shut as soon as shown. 



230 



Why should weak Nature tire herself in vain 

In such a piece, to dash it straight again ? 

Why should she take such work beyond her skill, 

Which, when she cannot perfect, she must kill? 

Alas ! what is't to temper slime and mire ? 

But Nature's puzzled when she works in fire. 

Great brains (like brightest glass) crack straight, while 

those 
Of stone or wood hold out, and fear not blows ; 
And we their ancient hoary heads can see 
Whose wit was never their mortality. 
Beaumont dies young, so Sidney did before, 
There was not poetry he could live to more, 
He could not grow up higher, I scarce know 
If th' art itself unto that pitch could grow, 
Were't not in thee that hadst arriv'd the height 
Of all that wit could reach, or nature might. 

when I read those excellent things of thine, 
Such strength, such sweetness couched in ev'ry line, 
Such life of fancy, such high choice of brain, 
Nought of the vulgar wit or borrowed strain, 

Such passion, such expressions meet my eye, 
Such wit untainted with obscenity, 
And these so unaffectedly exprest, 
All in a language purely flowing drest, 
And all so born within thyself, thine own, 
So new, so fresh, so nothing trod upon : 

1 grieve not now that old Menander's vein 



Is ruin'd to survive in thee again ; 



231 



Such, in his time, was he of the same piece, 

The smooth, even, nat'ral wit and love of Greece, 

Those few sententious fragments shew more worth, 

Than all the poets Athens e'er brought forth ; 

And I am sorry we have lost those hours 

On them, whose quickness comes far short of ours, 

And dwell not more on thee, whose ev'rypage 

May be a pattern for their scene and stage. 

I will not yield thy works so mean a praise ; 

More pure, more chaste, more sainted than are plays: 

Nor with that dull supineness to be read, 

To pass a fire, or laugh an hour in bed. 

How do the Muses suffer every where, 

Taken in such mouth's censure, in such ears, 

That 'twixt a whiff, a line or two rehearse, 

And with their rheume together spaul a verse ? 

This all a poem's leisure after play, 

Drink, or tobacco, it may keep the day : 

Whilst ev'n their very idleness they think 

Is lost in these, that lose their time in drink. 

Pity then dull we, we that better know, 

Will a more serious hour on thee bestow. 

Why should not Beaumont in the morning please, 

As well as Plautus, Aristophanes ? 

Who, if my pen may as my thoughts be free, 

Were scurril wits and buffoons both to thee ; 

Yet these our learned of severest brow 

Will deign to look on, and to note them too, 

That will defy our own, 'tis English stuff, 

And th' author is not rotten long enough. 



932 

Alas ! what phlegm are they compar'd to thee, 

In thy Philaster, and MaicVs-Tragedy ? 

Where's such a humour as thy Bessus ? pray 

Let them put all their Thrasocs in one play, 

He shall out- bid them ; their conceit was poor, 

All in a circle of a bawd or whore ; 

A coz'ning dance ; take the fool away 

And not a good jest extant in a play. 

Yet these are wits, because they'r old, and now 

Being Greek and Latin, they are learning too : 

But those their own times were content t' allow 

A thirsty fame, and thine is lowest now. 

But thou shalt live, and, when thy name is grown 

Six ages older, shall be better known, 

When th* art of Chaucer 's standing in the tomb, 

Thou shalt not share, but take up all his room. 

John Earle. 



233 



No. VII. 



DEDICATION TO THE LATIN TRANSLATION 



OF THE 



Ejxwv Iioi0lKlX.V). 



u Serenissimo et Potentissimo Monarcbae, Carolo Se- 
cundo, Dei Gratia Magnse Britannia?, Francis et Hi- 
bernian Regi, Fidei Defensori, &c. 

Serenissime Rex, 
Prodeat jam sub mis auspiciis ilia patris tui gloriosis- 
simi imago, ilia qua magis ad Dei similitudinem, quam 
qua Rex aut bomo accedit. Prodeat vero eo colore pe- 
regrino, quo facta omnibus conspectior fiat publica. Ita 
enim tu voluisti, ut sic lingua omnium communi orbi 
traderem, in qua utinam feliciorem tibi operam navare 
licuisset, ut illam nativam elegantiam, illam vim verbo- 
rum et lumina, illam admirabilem sermonis structuram 
exprimerem. Quod cum fieri (fortasse nee a peritissi- 
mis) a me certe non possit, prtestat interim ut cum ali- 



234 



qua venustatis injuria magnam partem Europse alloqua- 
tur, quam intra paucos suae gentis clausa apud caeteros 
omnes conticescat. Sunt enim hie velut quaedam Dei mag- 
nalia quae spargi expedit humano generi, et in omnium 
Unguis exaudiri : id pro mea faeultate curavi, ut si non 
sensa tanti authoris ornate, at perspicue et fide trade- 
rem, imo nee ab ipsa dietione et phrasi (quantum Latini 
idiomatis ratio permittit) vel minimum recederem. Sa- 
cri enim codicis religiosum esse decet interpretem : et 
certe proxime ab illo sacro et adorando codice, (qui in has 
comparationes non cad it,) spera non me audacem futu- 
rum, si dixero nullum inter caeteros mortalium, vel 
autore vel argumento illustriorem, vel in quo viva ma- 
gis pietas et eximie Christiana spiral ur. 

Habet vero sanctitas regia ncscio quid ex fortunae sua* 
majestate sublimius quiddam et augustius, et quae im- 
perium magis obtinet in mentes hominum, et reveren- 
tia majore accipitur : quare et his maxime instruments 
usus est Deus, qui illam partem sacrae paging ad solen- 
nem Dei cuitum pertinentem, psalmos scilicet, et hym- 
nos : caeteraque ejusmodi perpetuis ecclesiae usibus in- 
servitura, transmitterent hominibus, et auctoritatem 
quandam conciliarent. Quid quod libentius etiam ar- 
ripiunt homines sic objectam et traditam pietatem. 
Quod et libro huic evenit, et erit magis eventurum, quo 
jam multo diffusior plures sui capaces invenent. 

Magnum erat profecto sic meditari, sic scribere; 
multo maj us sic vivcre, sic mori : ut sit haec pene nimia 
dictu pietas exemplo illius superata. Scit haec ilia orbis 
pars miserrima jam et contaminatissima. Utinam 



235 



hanc maturius intellexissent virtutem, quam jam sero 
laudant, et admirantur amissam, nee ilia opus fuisset 
dira fornace, qua tam eximia regis pietas exploraretur, 
ex qua nos tantum miseri facti sumus, ille omnium feli- 
cissimus ; cujus ilia pars vitas novissima et asrumnosis- 
sima et supremus dies, (in quo hominibus, et angelis 
spectacuhun factus stetit ammo excelso et interrito, 
summum fidei, constancies, patientiae exemplar, superior 
malis suis, et tota simul conjesta inferni malitia) ornnes 
omnium triumphos et quicquid est humanae glorias, su- 
superavit. Nihil egistis O quot estis, hominum ! (sed 
nolo libro sanctissimo quicquam tetrius praefari, nee 
quos ille inter preces nominat, maledicere) nihil, in« 
quam, egistis hoc parricidio, nisi quod famam illius et 
immortalitatem cum ssterno vestro probro et scelere con- 
junxistis. Nemo unquam ah orbe condito tot veris om- 
nium lacrymis, tot sinceris laudibus celebratus est. 
Nulli unquam principum in secundis agenti illos fictos 
plausus vel metus dedit, vel adulatio vendidit, quam hie 
verissimos expressere fuga, career, theatium et ilia om- 
nium funestissima securis, qua obstupe, fecit hostes mo- 
riens et csesus triumphavit. 

Tu interim (Rex augustissime) vera et viva patris ef- 
figies, (cujus inter summas erat felicitates humanas, et 
in adversis solatium te genuisse, in quo superstite mori 
non potest) inflammeris maxime hoc mortis illius exem- 
plo, non tam in vindictae cupidinem, (in quern alii te 
extimulent, non ego) quam in heroicae virtutis, et con- 
stantiae zelum : hanc vero primum adeas quam nulla vis 
tibi invito eripiet, haereditariam pietatem ; et quo es in 



236 

tuos omnes affectu maxime philostorgo, hunc librum 
eodem tecum genitore satum amplectere; die sapientias, 
soror mea es, ct prudentiam affinem voca ; hanc tu con- 
sule, hanc freqiiens meditare, hanc imbibe penitus, etiu 
animam tuam transfunde. Vides in tc omnium con- 
jectos oculos, in te omnium bonorum spes sitas, ex te 
omnium vitas pendere, quas jamdiu multi taedio proje- 
cissent, nisi ut essent quas tibi impenderent. Magnum 
onus incumbit, magna urget prccella, magna expectatio, 
major omnium, quam quae unquam superius, virtutum 
necessitas : an sit regnumamplius in Britannia futurum, 
an religio, an homines, an Deus, ex tua virtute, tua tor- 
tuna dependet: immo, sola potius ex Deo fortuna ; cujus 
opera quo magis hie necessariam agnoscis, prsesenta- 
neam requiris, eo magis magisque, (quod jam facis) om- 
ni pietatis officio promerearis : et ilia quae in te largc- 
sparsit bonitatis, prudentise, temperantiae, justitise, et 
omnis regies virtutis semina foveas, augeas, et infructum 
matures, ut tibi Deus placatus et propitius, quod de- 
traxit patri two felieitatis humanae, tibi adjiciat, et om- 
nes illius asrumnas conduplicatis in te beneficiis com- 
penset, et appelleris ille restaurator, quem te unice op- 
tant omnes et sperant futurum, et ardentissimis precibus 
cxpetit 

Majestatis tu&humillimus devotissimusque subditus 
et sacellanus, 

Jo. Eahles, 



237 



No. VIII. 

INSCRIPTION ON DR. PETER HEYLIN'S* MONU- 
MENT IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY. 

[Written by Dr. Earle, then Dean of Westminster.] 



Deposiuim Mortale 

Petri Heylyn, S. Th. D, 

Hujus Ecclesiae Prebendarii et Subdecani, 

* Peter Heylin was born at Burford, in Oxfordshire, Nov. 
29, 1599, and received the rudiments of his education at the 
free school in that place, from whence he removed to Hart- 
hall, and afterwards obtained a fellowship at Magdalen Col- 
lege, Oxford. By the interposition of Bishop Laud, to whom 
he was recommended by Lord Danvers, he was presented first 
to the rectory of Hemingford, in Huntingdonshire, then to a 
prebend of Westminster, and lastly to the rectory of Hough- 
ton in the Spring, in the diocese of Durham, which latter he 
exchanged for Alresford, in Hampshire. In 1 633 he proceed- 
ed D. D. and in 1638, became rector of South Warnborougb, 
Hampshire, by exchange with Mr. Atkinson, of St. John's 
College, for Islip, in Oxfordshire. In 1640 he was chosen 
clerk of the convocation for Westminster, and in 1642 fol- 
lowed the king to Oxford. After the death of Charles, he 



258 

Viri plane memorabilis, 

Egregiis dotibus instructissimi, 

Ingenio acri et fcecundo, 

Judicio subacto, 

Memoria ad prodigium tenaci, 

Cui adjunxit incredibilem in studiis patientiam 

Qu£e cessantibus oculis nun cessarunt. 

Scripsit varia et plurima, 

Quae jam manibus hominum teruntur; 

Et argumentis non vulgaribus 

Stylo non vulgari suffecit 

Et Majestatis Regime a^sertor 

Nee florentis magis utriusque 

Quam afflictse, 

Idemque perduellium et scismaticEe factionis 

Impugnator acerrimus. 

Contemptor invidiae 

lost all his property, and removing with his family from place 
to place, subsisted by the exercise of his pen till the Restora- 
tion, when he regained his livings, and was made sub-dean of 
Westminster. His constancy and exertions were supposed 
by many to merit a higher reward, from a government, in 
whose defence he had sacrificed every prospect ; but the 
warmth of his temper, and his violence in dispute, were such 
as rendered his promotion to a higher dignity in the church 
impolitic in the opinion of the ministers. He died May 8, 
1662, and was interred in Westminster-abbey, under his own 
stall. A list of his numerous publications, as well as a cha- 
racter of him, may be found in "Wood's Atluna Oxonknses,i\, 
27.5. 



210 



No. IX. 

CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN DR. EARLE 
AND MR. BAXTER. 

[See Kennett's Register, folio, Lond. 1723, page 713.] 



MR. BAXTER TO DR. EARLE. 
" REVEREND SIR, 

" By the great favour of my Jord chancellor's repre- 
hension, I came to understand how long a time I have 
suffered in my reputation with my superiors by your 
misunderstanding me, and misinforming others; as if 
when I was to preach before the king, I had scornfully 
refused the tippet as a toy ; when, as the Searcher and 
Judge of Hearts doth know, that I had no such thought 
or word. I was so ignorant in those matters as to 
think that a tippet had been a proper ensign of a doctor 
of divinity, and I verily thought that you offered it me 
as such : and I had so much pride as to be somewhat 
ashamed when you offered it me, that I must tell you 
my want of such degrees ; and therefore gave you no 
answer to your first offer, but to your second was forced 
to say, " It belongeth not to me, Sir." And I said not 
to you any more ; nor had any other thought in my 
heart than with some shame to tell you that I had no 



239 

Et animo infracto 

Plura ejusmodi meditanti 

Mors indixit silentium : 

Ut sileatur 

Efficere non potest. 

Obiit Anno ^tatis 63, et 8 die Maii, A. D. 1662. 

Possuit hoc illi maestissima conjux. 



241 



degrees, imagining I should have offended othese, and 
made myself the laughter or scorn of many, if I should 
have used that which did not belong to me. For I must 
profess that I had no more scruple to wear a tippet than 
a gown, or any comely garment. Sir, though this be 
one of the smallest of all the mistakes which of late have 
turned to my wrong, and I must confess that my igno- 
rance gave you the occasion, and I am far from im- 
puting it to any ill will in you, having frequently heard, 
that in charity, and gentleness, and peaceableness of 
mind you are very eminent ; yet because I must not con- 
temn my estimation with my superiors, I humbly crave 
that favour and justice of you, (which I am confident 
you will readily grant me,) as to acquaint those with the 
truth of this business, whom, upon mistake, you have 
misinformed, whereby in relieving the innocence of your 
brother, you will do a work of charity and justice, and 
therefore not displeasing unto God, and will much 
oblige, , 

Sir, 

Your humble servant, 

Richard Baxter. 



P. S. I have the more need of your justice in this 
case, because my distance denieth me access to those 
that have received these misreports, and because any 
public vindication of myself, whatever is said of me, is 
taken as an unsufferable crime, and therefore I am ut- 

R 



242 



terly incapable of vindicating my innocency, or reme- 
dying their mistakes. 

" To the reverend and much honoured Dr. Earles, 
Dean of Westminster, &c. These." 



DR. EARLE, IN REPLY. 

Hampton-Court, June 23. 
"Sir, 
u I received your letter, which I would have an- 
swered sooner, if the messenger that brought it had re- 
turned. I must confess I was a little surprized with the 
beginning of it, as I was with your name; but when I 
read further I ceased to be so. Sir, I should be heartily 
sorry and ashamed to be guilty of any thing like ma- 

that they were Kgnity <> r uncharitableness, especially 
all such. — Note to one of your condition, with whom, 
by Mr. Baxter. though j concur not perhaps in point of 
judgment in some particulars, yet I cannot but esteem for 
your personal worth and abilities; and, indeed, your ex- 
pressions in your letter are so civil and ingenuous, that 

1 am obliged thereby the more to give you all the satis- 
faction I can. 

As I remember, then, when you came to me to the 
closet, and I told you I would furnish you with a tippet, 
you answered me something to that purpose as you 
write, but whether the same numerical words, or but 
once, I cannot possibly say from my own memory, and 
therefore I believe yours. Only this I am sure of, that 



243 



I said to you at my second speaking, that some others 

of your persuasion had not scrupled at 
These words I • i • i • u . t-c u a 

heard not, being *> whlch mi § ht s^PPOse (if you had 
in the passage not affirmed the contrary), that you had 
bu^h^Baxter * ma ^ e me a formal refusal; of which 

giving me then no other reason than 
that " it belonged not to you," I concluded that you were 
more scrupulous than others were. And, perhaps, the 
manner of your refusing it (as it appeared to me) 
might make me think you were not very well pleased 
with the motion. And this it is likely I might say, 
either to my lord chancellor or others ; though seriously 
I do not remember that I spake to my lord chan- 
cellor at all concerning it. But, sir, since you give me 
now that modest reason for it, (which, by the way, is 
no just reason in itself, for a tippet may be worn with- 
out a degree, though a hood cannot ; and it is no shame 
at all to want these formalities for him that wanteth 
not the substance,) but, sir, I say, since you give that 
reason for your refusal, I believe you, and shall correct 
that mistake in myself, and endeavour to rectify it in 
others, if any, upon this occasion, have misunderstood 
you. In the mean time I shall desire your charitable 
opinion of myself, which I shall be willing to deserve 
upon any opportunity that is offered me to do you ser- 
vice, being, sir, 

Your very humble servant, 

Jo. Earles." 
" To my honoured friend, Mr. Richard Baxter, These." 

R 2 



244 



No: X. 

MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION 

IN STREGLETHORP CHURCH, NEAR NEWARK-UPON-TRENT, 
IN LINCOLNSHIRE. 

[From Le Neve's Monumenta Anglicana*. 8vo. Lond. 1718. 
vol. iii. p. 182.] 



Stay, reader, and observe Death's partial doom, 

A spreading virtue in a narrow tombe; 

A generous mind, mingled with common dust, 

Like burnish'd steel, cover'd, and left to rust. 

Dark in the earth he lyes, in whom did shine 

All the divided merits of his line. 

The lustre of his name seems faded here, 

No fairer star in all that fruitfull sphere. 

In piety and parts extreamly bright, 

Clear was his youth, and fill'd with growing light, 

* Two other epitaphs appear in this collection, on the 
Earles of Norfolk, with whom I cannot find our author to have 
had the least connection. A full account of this family may 
be seen in Blomefield's History of Norfolk, vol. iii. p. 531. 



245 

A mom that promis'd much, yet saw no noon; 
None ever rose so fast, and set so soon. 
All lines of worth were centered here in one, 
Yet see, he lies in shades whose life had none. 
But while the mother this sad structure rears, 
A double dissolution there appears — 
He into dust dissolves, she into tears. 

Richardus Earle *, Barn tu3 . 

Obijt decimo tertio die 

Augti Anno Dom. 1697. 

iEtatis suse 24. 



* The title was created by Charles the First, July 2, 1629, 
and, I believe, became extinct at the decease of this person. 



1 



246 



No. XI. 

CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF BOOKS OF 
CHARACTERS. 



No. i. 

A Caueat 

for commen Cvr 

setors vvlgarely called 

Vagabones, set forth by Thomas Harman. 

Esquier. for the vtiliteand proffyt of hys 

naturallCountrey. Newly agmented 

and Jmprinted Anno Domini. 

M.D.LXUJj. 

% Vewed, examined, and allowed, according tnto the 
Queenes Maiestyes Iniunctions 

[Roughly- executed wood-cut, of two persons receiving pu- 
nishment at the cart's tail from the hands of a beadle.] 

Imprinted 

at London in Fletestret at the signe of the 

Faulcon by Wylliam Gryffith, and are to be 

solde at his shoppe in Saynt Dunstones 

Churche yarde in the West. 

[4to. black letter, containing thirty folios, very incorrectly 
numbered.] 



247 

I commence my list of Characters, with a volume, 
which, although earlier than the period I originally in- 
tended to begin from, is of sufficient curiosity and inte- 
rest to warrant introduction, and, I trust, to obtain par- 
don from the reader for the additional trouble I am thus 
preparing for him. 

Mr. Warton, in his History of English Poetry, (iv. 74.) 
has given, with some trifling errors, a transcript of the 
title, and says he has a faint remembrance of a Collec- 
tion of Epigrams, by the author, printed about 1599: 
these I have never been fortunate enough to meet with, 
nor do they appear in the collections of Ames or Her- 
bert neither of whom had seen a copy of the present 
work, although they mention Griffith's licence to print 
it as dated in 1566 *. 

It is dedicated to Elizabeth, countess of Shrewsbury ; 
Mr. Warton thinks " with singular impropriety," al- 
though the motive appears at least to justify the mea- 
sure, if it does not entitle the author to commendation. 
He addresses this noble lady as a person of extreme be- 
nevolence, and " as also aboundautly powrynge out 
dayly [her] ardent and bountifull chary tie vppon all such 
as commeth for reliefe." — " I thought it good," he con- 
tinues, " necessary, and my bounden dutye, to ac- 
quaynte your goodnes with the abhominable, wycked, 
and detestable behauor of all these rowsey, ragged rab- 
blement of rake helles, that vnder the pretence of great 

* In the epistle to the reader, the author terms it " this 
second impression."' 



248 



misery, dyseases, and other innumerable calamites 
whiche they fayne through great hipocrisye, do wyn 
and gayne great almes in all places where they wyly 
wander." — On this account, therefore, and to preserve 
the kindness and liberality of the countess from imposi- 
tion, Harman dedicates his book to that lady. 

The notorious characters mentioned, are a " ruffler * ; a 
upright man f ; a hoker or angglear \ ; a roge § ; a wylde 



* A ruffler seems to have been a bully as well as a beggar, 
he is thus described in the Fraternitye of Vacabondes ; (see 
p. 256.) " A ruffeler goeth wyth a weapon to seeke seruice, 
saying he hath bene a seruitor in the wars, aud beggeth for 
his reliefe. But his chiefest trade is to robbe poore wayfaring 
men and market-women." In New Custome a morality, 1573, 
Creweltie, one of the characters, is termed a ruffler. See also 
Decker's Belman of London. Sign. C. iv. 

t " An upright man is one that goeth wyth the trunchion of 
a staffe, which staffe they cal a Flitchma. This man is of so 
much authority, that meeting with any of his profession, he 
may cal them to accompt, and comaund a share or snap vnto 
himselfe of al that they have gained by their trade in one mo- 
neth." Fraternitye of Vacabondes. 

$ This worthy character approaches somewhat near to a 
shop-lifter. Decker tells us that " their apparele in which 
they walke is commonly freize jerkins and gallye slops." 
Belman. Sign. C. iv. 

§ A rogue, says Burton, in his MS. notes to Decker's 
Belman of London, " is not so stoute and [hardy] as the vp- 
right man." 



249 

roge *; a prygger of prauncers ; a pallyarde t ; a frater + ; 
a Abraham man § ; a fresh water mariner, or whipiacke; 
a counterfet cranke || ; a dommerar H ; a dronken tinc- 
kar**; a swadder or pedler ; a jarke man, and a pa- 
trico ff ; a demaunder for glymmar +J ; a bawdy basket §§ ; 

* A person whose parents were rogues. 

t " These be called also clapperdogens" and " go with 
patched clokes." Sign. C. iv. 

X A Frater and a Whipiacke, are persons who travel with a 
counterfeite license, the latter in the dress of a sailor. See 
Fraternitye, Belman, &c. 

§ " An Abraham-man is he that walketh bare-armed, and 
bare-legged, and fayneth hyraselfe mad, and caryeth a packe 
of wool, or a stycke with baken on it, or such lyke toy, and 
nameth himselfe Poore Tom." Fraternitye of Vacabondes. 

|| A person who asks charity, and feigns sickness and 
disease. 

1F One who pretends to be dumb. In Harman's time they 
were chiefly Welsh-men. 

** An artificer who mends one hole, and makes twenty. 

tt A jarke man can read and write, and sometimes under- 
stands a little Latin. A patriot solemnizes their marriages. 

tt These are commonly women who ask assistance, feign- 
ing that they have lost their property by fire. 

$§ A woman who cohabits with an upright man, and pro- 
fesses to sell thread, &r. 



250 



a antem morte * ; a walking morte ; adoxe; a deli; a; 
kynchin morte; and a kynchen co." 

From such a list, several instances of the tricks, as 
well as specimens of the language of the thieves of the 
day, might with ease be extracted, did not the limits of 
my little volume compel me to refrain from entering at 
large into this history of rogues ; a restriction I the 
more regret, from its containing several passages illus- 
trating the manners of that period, and which would be 
found of material use towards explaining many of the 
allusions met with in our early English dramas, and 
now but imperfectly understood. 

" % A Prygger of Prauncers. (Sign. C. iii. b.) 

" A prigger of Prauncers be horse stealers, for to 
prigge signifieth in their language to steale, and a praun- 
cer is a horse, so beinge put together, the matter is plaine. 
These go commonly in jerkins of leather or of white 
frese, & carry little wandes in their hands, and will 
walke through grounds and pasturs, to search and se 
horses mete for their purpose. And if thei chaunce to 
be met and asked by the owners of the grounde what 
they make there, they fayne straighte that they have 
loste theyr waye, and desyre to be enstructed the beste 

* u These antem mortes be marled wemen, as there be but 
a fewe : for antem, in their language is a churche — " &c. Har- 
mon. Sign. E. iv. A walking morte is one unmarried : a 
doxe, a dell, and a kynchin morte, are all females ; and a kyn- 
chen co is a young boy not thoroughly instructed in the art of 
canting and prigging. 



251 

way to suche a place. These will also repayre to gen- 
tlemens houses, and aske theyr charitye, and will offer 
theyr seruice. And if you aske them what they can 
doe, they wil save that they can kepe two or three gel- 
dinges, and waite vppon a gentleman. These haue also 
theyr women that, walkinge from them in other places, 
marke where and what they see abrode, and sheweth 
these priggars therof, when they meete, whych is wyth- 
in a weeke or two. And loke, where they steale any 
thynge, they conuey the same at the leaste three score 
miles of, or more. There was a gentleman, a verye 
friende of myne, rydynge from London homewarde into 
Kente, hauinge within three myles of his house busy- 
nesse, alyghted of his horse, and hys man also, in a 
pretye village, where diuers houses were, and looked 
about hym where he myghte haue a conuenyent person 
to walke his horse, because he would speak w e a farmer 
that dwelte on the backe side of the sayde village, little 
aboue a quarter of a myle from the place where he light- 
ed, and had his man to waight vpon hym, as it was 
mete for his callynge : espieng a priggar there standing, 
thinkinge the same to dwel there, charging this prity 
prigginge person to walke his horse well, and that 
they might not stande still for takynge of colde, and at 
his return e (which he saide should not be longe,) he 
would geue him a peny to drinke, and so wente about 
his busines. Thys peltinge priggar, proude of his 
praye, walketh hys horses vp and downe, till he sawe 
the gentleman out of sighte, and leapes him into the 
saddell, and awaye he goeth a mayne. This gentleman 



252 



returning, and findyng not his horses, sente his man to 
the one ende of the village, & he went himselfe vnto the 
other ende, and enquired as he went for hys horses that 
were walked, and began somewhat to suspecte, because 
neither he nor his man coulde neyther see' nor fynde 
him. Then this gentleman diligently enquired of three 
or foure towne dwellers there whether any such person, 
declaring his stature, age, apparel, and so manye lina- 
mentes of his body as he coulde call to remembraunce. 
And ?na wee, all sayde that no such man dwelte in their 
streate, neither in the parish that they knewe of, but 
some did wel remember that suche a one they sawe 
there lyrkinge and huggeringe * two houres before the 
gentleman came thether and a straunger to them. J 
had thought, quoth this gentleman, he had here dwelled, 
and marched home mannerly in his botes : farre from 
the place he dwelt not. J suppose at his comming home 
he sente such wayes as he suspected or thought mete to 
search for this prigger, but hetherto he neuer harde any 
tidinges againe of his palfreys. J had the best gelding 
stolen out of my pasture that J had amogst others, while 
this boke was first a printing." 

At the end of the several characters, the author gives 
a list of the names of the most notorious thieves of his 
day, a collection of the cant phrases used by them, with 

* In Florio's Italian Dictionary, the word dinascoso is ex- 
plained " secretly, hiddenly, in hugger-mugger." See also 
Reed's Shakspeare, xviii. 284. Old Plays, 1780. viii. 48. 



m 



their significations ; and a dialogue between an uprighte 
man and a roge, which I shall transcribe : — 

" The vpright Cofe canteth to the Roger. 
The vpright e man spaketh to the roge. 
Man. Bene lyghtmans to thy quarromes in what 
lipke hast thou lipped in this darkemanes ; whether in a 
lybbege or in the strummell ? 

God morrowe to thy bodye, in what house hast thou lyne 
in all night whether in a bed, or in the strawe ? 

Roge. J couched a hogeshed in a skypper this darke- 
mans. 

Ilaye me down to sleepe in a barne this night 
Man. J towre ye strummell tryne vpon thy nabcher 
& togman. 

I see the straw hange vpon thy cap and coate. 
Roge. J saye by the Salomon J wyll lage it of with a 
gage of bene house then cut to my nose watch. 

J szoeare by the masse J wyll wash it of with a quart of 
drinke, then saye to me what thou wilt. 

Man. Why, hast thou any lowre in thy bouge to 
bouse ? 

Why, hast thou any money in thy purse to drinke ? 
Roge. But a flagge, a wyn, and a make. 

But a grot, a penny, and a halfe-penny. 
Man. Why where is the kene that hath the bene 
bouse ? 

Where is the house that hath the good drinke ? 
Roge. A bene mort hereby at the signe of the 
prauncer. 

A good wyfe here by at the signe of the hors. 



254 

Man. J cutt it is quyer buose J bousd a flagge the 
laste darkemans. 

J saye it is small and naughtye drynke, J dranke a groat e 
there the last night. 

Roge. But bouse there a bord, and thou shalt haue 
beneship. 

But drinke there a shyllinge, and thou shalt haue very 
good. 

Tower ye, yander is the kene, dup the gygger, and 
maund that is beneshype. 

5e you, yonder is the house, open the doore, and aske for 
the best. 

Man. This bouse is as benshyp as rome bouse. 
This drinke is as good as wyne. 

Now J tower that bene bouse makes nase nabes. 

Now J se that good drynke makes a dronken heade. 

Maunde of this morte what bene pecke is in her ken. 

Aske of this zoyfe what good meate shee hath in her 
house. 

Roge. She hath a cacling chete, a grunting chete, 
ruff pecke, cassan, and popplarr of yarum. 

She hath a hen, a pyg, baken, chese, and mylke porrage. 

Man. That is beneshyp to oure watche. 
That is very good for vs. 

Now we haue well bousd, let vs strike some chete. 

Nowe we haue well dronke, let vs steale some thinge. 

Yonder dwelleth a quyere cuffen it were beneshype to 
my 11 hym. 

Yonder dwelleth a hoggeshe and choyrlyshe man it weare 
very well donne to robbe him. 



255 



Koge. Nowe, bynge we a waste to the hygh pad, the 
ruffmanes is by. 

Naye, let vs go hence to the hygh waye, the modes is at 
hande. 

Man. So may we happen on the harmanes and cly the 
jarke, or to the quyer ken and skower quyaer cramp- 
rings and so to tryning on the chates. 

So we maye chaunce to set in the stockes, eyther be whyp- 
ped, eyther had to prison-house, and there be shackeled zvith 
bolttes and fetters, and then to hangc on the gallowes. 

[Rogue.] Gerry gan the ruffian clye thee. 

A corde in thy mouth, the deuyll take thee. 

Man. What ! stowe you bene cofe and cut benar 
whydds ; and byng we to some vyle to nyp a bong, so 
shall we haue lovvre for the bousing ken and when we 
byng back to the deuseauyel, we wyll fylche some 
duddes of the rufTemans, or myll the ken for a lagge of 
dudes. 

What ! holde your peace, goodfellowe, and speake better 
wordes ; andgo zee toLondon tocut a purse, then shalwehaue 
money for the ale-house, and when we come backe agayne 
into the countrey, we wyll steale some lynnen clothes of one 
hedges, or robbe some house for a bucke of clothes " 

I have been induced, from the curiosity and rarity of 
this tract, to extend my account of it farther, perhaps, 
than many of my readers may think reasonable, and 
shall, therefore, only add a specimen of Harman's poetry, 
with which the original terminates. 



256 



" (fcf Thus J conclude my bolde beggar's booke, 

That all estates most playnely maye see ; 

isina glasse well pollyshed to looke, 

Their double demeaner in eche degree ; 

Their lyues, their language, their names as they be; 

That with this warning their myndes may be warmed 

To amende their mysdeedes, and so lyue vnharmed." 

Another tract of the same description is noticed in 
Herbert's Ames (p. 885.) as printed so early as in 1565. 
A copy of the second edition in the Bodleian Library, 
possesses the following title : — " The Fratcrnitye of Ua- 
cabondcs. As zcel of rufiyng Vacabondes, as of beggerly, of 
women as of men, of gyrles as of boyes, with their proper 
names and qualities. With a description of the crafty com- 
pany of Cousoners and Shifters. Whereunto also is ad- 
ioyned the xxv orders of Knaues, otherwyse called a Quar- 
tern of Knaues. Confirmed for euer by Cocke Lorell *, fyc. 
Imprinted at London by Iohn Awdeley, dwellyng in little 
Britayne streete without Aldersgate. 1575." This, al- 
though much shorter than Harman's, contains nearly 
the same characters, and is therefore thus briefly dis- 
missed. An account of it, drawn up by the editor of the 
present volume, may be found in Brydges' British Biblio- 
grapher, vol. ii. p. 12. 

* Herbert notices Cock Lorelles Bote, which he describes 
to be a satire in verse, in which the author enumerates all the 
most common trades and callings then in being. It was 
printed, in black letter, Wynken de Worde, 4to. without date. 
History of Printing ii. 224, and Percy's Reliques, i. 137, 
edit. 1794. 



257 



It may not be amiss to notice in this place, that a 
considerable part of The Belman of London, bringing 
to light the most notorious villanies that are now prac- 
tised in the kingdom, fyc. 4to. 1608, is derived from Her- 
man's Caveat. Among the books bequeathed to the 
Bodleian, by Burton, (4to. G.8. Art. BS.) is a copy of the 
Belman, with the several passages so borrowed, marked 
in the hand-writing of the author of the Anatomy of 'Me- 
lancholy, who has also copied the canting dialogue just 
given, and added several notes of his own on the margin. 



ii. Picture of a Puritane, 8vo. 1605. [Dr. Farmer's 
Sale Catalogue, page 153, No. 3709.] 



iii, " A Wife novo the Widdow of Sir Thomas Overbvrye. 
Being a most exquisite and singular Poem of the 
Choice of a Wife. Wherevnto are added many 
witty Characters, and conceited Newes, written by 
himself e and other learned Gentlemen his friends. 

Dignum laude virum musa vetat mori, 
Ccelo musa beat. Hor. Car. lib. 3. 

London Printed for Lawrence Lisle, and are to bee 
sold at his shop in Paule's Church-yard, at the signe of 
the Tiger's head. 1614."* 

[4to. pp. 64, not numbered.] 

* In 1614 appeared The Husband, a Poeme, expressed in 
a corapleat man. See Censura Literaria, v. 365. John Da- 



258 



Of Sir Thomas Overbury's life, and unhappy end, we 
have so full an account in the Biographia, and the va- 
rious historical productions, treating of the period in 
which he lived, that nothing further will be expected 
in this place. His Wife and Characters were printed, 
says Wood, several times during his life, and the edi- 
tion above noticed, was supposed, by the Oxford biogra- 
pher, to be the fourth or fifth *. Having never seen a 
copy of the early editions, I am unable to fix on any 
character undoubtedly the production of Overbury, and 
the printer confesses some of them were written by 
" other learned gentlemen." These were greatly en- 
creased in subsequent impressions, that of 1614 having 
only twenty-one characters, and that in 1622 contain- 
ing no less than eighty. 

vies, cf Hereford, wrote A Select Second Hvsband for Sir 
Thomas Overbvries Wife, now a matchlesse widow. 8vo. Lond. 
1616. And in 1673 was published, The Illustrious Wife, 
viz. That excellent Poem, Sir Thomas Overbvrie's Wife, illus- 
trated by Giles Oldisworth, Nepliew to the same Sir T. O. 

* It was most probably the fifth, as Mr. Capel, who has 
printed the Wife, in his very curious volume, entitled Pro- 
lusions, 8vo. Lond. 1760, notices two copies in 1614, one in 
8vo. which I suppose to be the third, and one in 4to. stated 
in the title to be the fourth edition : the sixth was in the 
following year, 1615 ; the seventh, eighth, and ninth were 
in 1616, the eleventh in 1622, twelfth in 1627, thirteenth 1628, 
fourteenth, 1630, fifteenth, 1632, sixteenth, 1638, and Mr. 
Brand possessed a copy, the specific edition of which I am 
unable to state> printed in 1655. Catalogue, No. 4927. 



259 



A COURTIER, — (Sign. C 4. b.) 
To all men's thinking is a man, and to most men the 
finest : all things else are defined by the understanding, 
but this by the sences ; but his surest marke is, that nee 
is to bee found onely about princes. Hee smells ; and 
putteth away much of his judgement about the scitu- 
ation of his clothes. Hee knowes no man that is not 
generally knowne. His wit, like the marigold, openeth 
with the sunne, and therefore he riseth not before ten 
of the clocke. Hee puts more confidence in his words 
than meaning, and more in his pronuntiation than his 
words. Occasion is his Cupid, and hee hath but one 
receipt of making loue. Hee folio wes nothing but in- 
constancie, admires nothing but beauty, honours no- 
thing but fortune. Loues nothing . The sustenance of 
his discourse is newes, and his censure like a shot de- 
pends vpon the charging. Hee is not, if he be out of 
court, but, fish-like, breathes destruction, if out of his 
owne element. Neither his motion, or aspect are regu- 
lar, but he mooues by the vpper spheres, and is the re- 
flexion of higher substances. If you finde him not 
heere, you shall in Paules with a pick- tooth in his hat, 
a cape cloke, and a long stocking. 



iv. " Satyrkal Essayes, Characters, and others, or accu- 
rate and quick Descriptions, fitted to the life of 
their Subiects. rSiv b%Z>v &h <pvXurlecrSa,i (A,kKKw fo7 n tov? 

efc e 'f. Theophras. 

S3 



260 

Aspice et hac, si forte aliquid decoctius audis, 
Jude vaporata Lector mihiferucat mire. Iuuen. 
Plagosus minime Plagiarius. 

John Stephens. London, Printed by Nicholas Okes, and 
are to be sold by Roger Barnes, at his Shop in St t Dwra- 
stane's Church-yard. 1615." 

[8vo. pp. 321. title, preface, &c. 14 more.] 

In a subsequent impression of this volume, 8vo. in 
the same year, and with a fresh title page, dated 1631 *, 
we find the author to be " John Stephens the younger, 
of Lincoln's Inn :" no other particulars of him appear to 
exist at present, excepting that he was the author of a 
play entitled, Cinthia*s Revenge ; or, Manander's Extasie. 
Lond. for Barnes, 1613, 4to. " which," says Langbaine, 
" is one of the longest plays I ever read, and withal the 
most tedious." Ben Jonson addressed some lines f to 

* Coxeter, in his MSS. notes to Gildon's Lives of the Eng. 
Dram. Poets, in the Bodleian, says that the second edition 
was in 8vo. 1 613, u Essays and Characters, Ironical and In- 
structive," but this must be a mistake. 

t " Who takes thy volume to his vertuous hand, 
Must be intended still to vnderstand : 
Who bluntly doth but looke vpon the same, 
May aske, what author would conceale his name ? 
Who reads may roaue, and call the passage darke, 
Yet may, as blind men, sometimes hit the marke. 



261 



the author, whom he calls " his much and worthily 
esteemed friend," as did F. C, G. Rogers, and Thomas 
Danet. 

Stephens dedicates his book to Thomas Turner, Esq. 
For the sake of a little variety I give one of his " three 
satyricall Essayes on Cowardlinesse," which are written 



" Feare to resist good virtue's common foe, 
And feare to loose some lucre, which doth grow 
By a continued practise ; makes our fate 
Banish (with single combates) all the hate, 
Which broad abuses challenge of our spleene. 
For who in Vertue's troope was euer seene, 
That did couragiously with mischiefes fight, 
Without the publicke name of hipocrite? 
Vaine-glorious, malapert, precise, deuout, 
Be tearmes which threaten those that go about 
To stand in opposition of our times 
With true defiance, or satyricke rimes. 
Cowards they be, branded among the worst, 
Who (through contempt of Atheisme), neuer durst 
Crowd neere a great man's elbow to suggest 
Smooth tales with glosse, or Enuy well addrest. 

Who reads, who roaues, who hopes to vnderstand, 
May take thy volume to his vertuous hand. 
Who cannot reade, but onely doth desire 
To vnderstand, hee may at length admire. 

B. I. 



262 

These be the noted cowards of our age; 
Who be not able to instruct the stage 
With matter of new shamelesse impudence : 
Who cannot almost laugh at innocence; 
And purchase high preferment by the waies, 
Which had bene horrible in Nero's dayes. 
They are the shamefull cowards, who contemne 
Vices of state, or cannot flatter them ; 
Who can refuse advantage, or deny 
Villanous courses, if they can espye 
Some little purchase to inrich their chest 
Though they become vncomfortably blest. 
We still account those cowards, who forbeare 
(Being possessed with a religious feare) 
To slip occasion, when they might erect 
Homes on a tradesman's noddle, or neglect 
The violation of a virgin's bed 
With promise to requite her maiden-head. 
Basely low-minded we esteeme that man 
Who cannot swagger well, or (if he can^) 
Who doth not with implacable desire, 
Follow revenge with a consuming fire. 
Extortious rascals, when they are alone, 
Bethinke how closely they have pick'd each bone, 
Nay, with a frolicke humour, they will brag, 
How blancke they left their empty client's bag. 
Which dealings if they did not giue delight, 
Or not refresh their meetings in despight, 
They would accounted be both weake, vnwise, 
And, like a timorous coward, too precise. 



263 

Your handsome-bodied youth (whose comely face 

May challenge all the store of Nature's grace,) 

If, when a lustfull lady doth inuite, 

By some lasciuious trickes his deere delight, 

If then he doth abhorre such wanton ioy; 

Whose is not almost ready to destroy 

Ciuility with curses, when he heares 

The tale recited ? blaming much his years, 

Or modest weaknesse, and with cheeks ful-blown 

Each man will wish the case had beene his own. 

Graue holy men, whose habite will imply 

Nothing but honest zeale, or sanctity, 

Nay so vprighteous will their actions seeme, 

As you their thoughts religion will esteeme. 

Yet these all-sacred men, who daily giue 

Such vowes, wold think themselves vnfit to liue, 

If they were artlesse in the flattering vice, 

Euen as it were a daily sacrifice : 

Children deceiue their parents with expence: 

Charity layes aside her conscience, 

And lookes vpon the fraile commodity 

Of monstrous bargaines with a couetous eye: 

And now the name of generosity, 

Of noble cariage or braue dignity, 

Keepe such a common skirmish in our bloud, 

As we direct the measure of things good, 

By that, which reputation of estate, 

Glory of rumor, or the present rate 

Of sauing pollicy doth best admit. 

We do employ materials of wit, 



264 

Knowledge, occasion, labour, dignity, 

Among our spirits of audacity, 

Nor in our gainefull protects do we care 

For what is pious, but for what we dare. 

Good humble men, who haue sincerely layd 

Saluation for their hope, we call afraid. 

But if you will vouchsafe a patient eare, 

You shall perceiue, men impious haue most feare." 

The second edition possesses the following title — 
" New Essay es and Characters, with a new Satyre in de- 
fence of the Common Law, and Lawyers : mixt with re- 
proofe against their Enemy Ignoramus, &c. London, 
1631." It seems not improbable that some person had 
attacked Stephens's first edition, although I am unable 
to discover the publication alluded to. I suspect him 
to be the editor of, or one of the contributors to, the 
later copies of Sir Thomas Overbury's Wife, &c. : since 
one of Stephens's friends, (a Mr. I. Cocke) in a poetical 
address prefixed to his New Essayes, says " I am heere 
enforced to claime 3 characters following the Wife * ; 
viz. the Tinker, the Apparatour, and Almanack-maker, 
that I may signify the ridiculous and bold dealing of an 
vnknowne botcher : but I needc make no question what 
he is; for his hackney similitudes discouer him to be the 
rayler above-mentioned, whosoeuer that rayler be." 

* These were added to the sixth edition of the Wife, in 
1615. 



/ 



265 

Caracters upon Essaies, morall and diuine, written for 
those good spirits that will take them in good pa^t, 
and make use of them to good purpose. London : 
Printed by Edw. Griffin far John Guillim, and are to 
be sold at his shop in Britaines Burse. 1615. 12mo. 

[Censura Literaria, v. 51. Monthly Mirror, xi. 16.] 



vi. The Good and the Badde, or Descriptions of the Wor- 
thies and Vnworthies of this Age. Where the Best 
may see their Graces, and the Worst discerne their 
Basenesse. London, Printed by George Purslowefor 
lohn Budge, and are to be sold at the great South-dore 
ofPaules, and at Brittaines Bursse. 1616. 

[4to. containing pp. 40, title, dedication " to Sir Gilbert 
Houghton, Knight," and preface six more. A second 
edition appeared in 1643, under the title of England's 
Selected Characters, &c] 

The author of these characters * was Nicholas Bre- 
ton, who dedicates them to Sir Gilbert Houghton, of 

* These are a king ; a queen ; a prince ; a privycounsel- 
lor ; a noble man ; a bishop ; a judge ; a knight ; a gentle- 
man ; a lawyer ; a soldier j a physician ; a merchant (their 
good and bad characters) ; a good man, and an atheist or most 
bad man ; a wise man and a fool ; an honest man and a knave ; 
an usurer; a beggar ; a virgin and a wanton woman; a quiet 



266 

Houghton, Knight. Of Breton no particulars are now 
known, excepting what may be gained from an epitaph 
in Norton church, Northamptonshire *, by which we 
learn that he was the son of Captain Breton, of Tarn- 
worth, in Staffordshire, and served himself in the Low 
Countries, under the command of the Earl of Leicester. 
He married Anne, daughter of Sir Edward Legh, or 
Leigh, of Rushell, Staffordshire, by whom he had five 
sons and four daughters, and having purchasedthe ma- 
nor of Norton, died there June 22, 1624 f. 

Breton appears to have been a poet of considerable 
reputation among his contemporaries, as he is noticed 
with commendation by Puttenhem and Meres : Sir Sa- 
muel Egerton Brydges declares that his poetical powers 
were distinguished by a simplicity, at once easy and 
elegant. Specimens of his productions in verse, may 
be found in Percy's Reliques, Ellis's Specimens, Cooper's 
Biases' Library, Centura Literaria ; and an imperfect list 

woman ; an unquiet woman ; a good wife ; an effeminate fool ; 
a parasite ; a bawd ; a drunkard ; a coward ; an honest poor 
man ; a just man ; a repentant sinner ; a reprobate ; an old 
man ; a young man, and a holy man. 

* It is by no means certain that this may not be intended 
to perpetuate the memory of some other person of the same 
names, although Mr. Gough, in a note to the second volume 
of Queen Elizabeth's Progresses, seems to think it belongs to 
our author. 

t Bridges' Northamptonshire, vol. ii. page 78, s. Shaw's 
Staffordshire, vol. i. page 422. 



267 



of his publications is given by Ritson, in the Bibliogra- 
phia Poetica, which is augmented by Mr. Park, in the 
Cens. Lit. ix. 163 *. 

A WORTHIE PlilUIE COTJNCELLER. 

A worthy priuie counceller is the pillar of a realme, in 
whose wisedome and care, vnderGod and the king, stands 
the safety of a kingdome ; he is the watch-towre to giue 
warning of the enemy, and a hand of prouision for the 
preseruation of the state : hee is an oracle in the king's 
eare, and a sword in the king's hand, an euen weight in 

* To these lists of Breton's productions may be added, 

1. A Solemne Passion of the Soule's Lone. 4to. Lond. 1598. 

2. The Mother's Blessing, 4to. Lond. 1602: 3. A Trve De- 
scription of vnthankfulnesse; or an enemie to Ingratitude. 
4to. Lond. 1602. 4. Breton's Longing, 4to. title lost in the 
Bodleian copy : prefixed are verses by H. T. gent. 5. A 
Poste with a packet of Mad Letters, 4to. 1653, dedicated by 
Nicholas Breton, to Maximilian Dallison of Hawlin, Kent. 
The last tract excepted, all the above are in a volume be- 
queathed by Bishop Tanner to the university of Oxford, which 
contains many of the pieces noticed by Rilson, and, in addi- 
tion, The Passion of a discontented Minde. 4to. Lond. 1602 , 
which I should have no hesitation in placing to Breton. At 
the end of the volume are The Passions of the Spirit, and 
Excellent Vercis worthey imitation of euery Christian in thier 
Conuersiation, both in manuscript, and, if we may judge from 
the style, evidently by the author before-mentioned. For the 
Figures, in the composition of which he had certainly a share, 
3ee page 224. 



268 

the ballance of justice, and a light of grace in the loue 
of truth : he is an eye of care in the course of lawe, a 
heart of loue in the seruice of his soueraigne, a mind of 
honour in the order of his seruice, and a braine of inuen- 
tion for the good of the common-wealth ; his place is 
powerful, while his seruice is faithfull, and his honour 
due in the desert of his employment. In summe, he is 
as a fixed planet mong the starres of the firmament, 
which through the clouds in the ayre, shewes the nature 
of his light. 

AN VNWORTHIE COUNCELLEE. 

An vnworthie counceller is the hurt of a king, and 
the danger of a state, when the weaknes of judgement 
may commit an error, or the lacke of care may give 
way to vnhappinesse : he is a wicked charme in the 
king's eare, a sword of terror in the aduice of tyranny : 
his power is perillous in the partiality of will, and his 
heart full of hollownesse in the protestation of loue : 
hypocrisie is the couer of his counterfaite religion, and 
traiterous inuetion is the agent of his ambition : he is 
the cloud of darknesse, that threatneth foule weather, 
and if it growe to a storme, it is feareful where it falls : 
hee is an enemy to God in the hate of grace, and wor- 
thie of death in disloyalty to his soueraigne. In summe, 
he is an vnfit person for the place of a counceller, and 
an vnworthy subject to looke a king in the face. 



269 



AN EFFEMINATE FOOL. 

An effeminate foole is the figure of a baby : he loues 
nothing but gay, to look in a glasse, to keepe among 
wenches, and to play with trifles; to feed on sweet 
meats, and to be daunced in laps, to be imbraced in 
armes, and to be kissed on the cheeke : to talke idlely, 
to looke demurely, to goe nicely, and to laugh conti- 
nually : to be his mistresse' servant, and her mayd's 
master, his father's love, and his mother's none-child : 
to play on a fiddle, and sing a loue-song, to weare sweet 
gloues, and look on fine things : to make purposes and 
write verses, deuise riddles, and tell lies: to follow 
plaies, and study daunces, to heare newes, and buy 
trifles : to sigh for loue, and weepe for kindnesse, and 
mourne for company, and bee sicke for fashion : to ride 
in a coach, and gallop a hackney, to watch all night, 
and sleepe out the morning : to lie on a bed, and take 
tobacco, and to send his page of an idle message to his 
mistresse ; to go vpon gigges, to haue his ruffes set in 
print, to picke his teeth, and play with a puppet. In 
sumrae, hee is a man-childe, and a woman's man, a 
gaze of folly, and wisedome's griefe *. 

* I am not aware that the following specimen of his versifi- 
cation, which is curious, ha* been reprinted. 



270 

" THE CHESSE PLAY." 

Very aptly deuised by N. B. Gent. 

[From " The Phcenix Nest. Built vp with the most rare and 
refined workes of Noble men, woorthy Knights, gallant Gen- 
tlemen, Masters of Arts, and braue Schollers," &c. " Setfoorth 
by R. S. of the Inner Temple, Gentleman." 4to. London, 
by Iohn Iackson, 1593, page 28.] 

A secret many yeeres vnseene, 
In play at chesse, who knowes the game, 
First of the King, and then the Queene, 
Knight, Bishop, Rooke, and so by name, 

Of euerie Pawne I will descrie, 

The nature with the qualitie. 

THE KING. 

The King himselfe is haughtie care, 

Which ouerlooketh all his men, 

And when he seeth how they fare 

He steps among them now and then, 

Whom, when his foe presumes to checke, 
His seruants stand, to giue the necke. 

THE QUEENE. 

The Qqeene is queint, and quicke conceit, 

Which makes hir walke which way she list, 

And rootes them vp, that lie in wait 

To worke hir treason, ere she wist : 
Hir force is such against hir foes 
That whom she meetes, sheouerthrov, 



271 

THE KNIGHT. 

The Knight is knowledge how to fight 

Against his prince's enimies, 

He neuer makes his walke outright, 

But leaps and skips, in wilie wise, 
To take by sleight a traitrous foe, 
Might slilie seeke their ouerthrowe. 

THE BISHOP. 

The Bishop he is wittie braine, 
That chooseth crossest pathes to pace, 
And euermore he pries with paine, 
To see who seekes him most disgrace : 
Such straglers when he findes astraie 
He takes them vp, and throwes awaie. 

THE ROOKES. 

The Rookes are reason on both sides, 
Which keepe the corner houses still, 
And warily stand to watch their tides, 
By secret art to worke their will, 

To take sometime a theefe vnseene, 
Might mischiefe raeane to King or Queene. 

THE PAWNES. 

The Pawne before the King, is peace, 
Which he desires to keepe at home, 
Practise, the Queene's, which doth not cease 
Amid the world abroad to roame, 
To finde, and fall upon each foe, 
. Whereas his mistres rneanes to goe. 



272 

Before the Knight, is perill plast, 

Which he, by skipping ouergoes, 

And yet that Pawne can worke a cast, 

To ouerthrow his greatest foes; 

The Bishop's prudence, prieng still 
Which way to worke his master's will. 

The Rooke's poore Pawnes, are sillie swaines, 
Which seeldome serue, except by hap, 
And yet those Pawnes, can lay their traines, 
To catch a great man, in a trap : 

So that I see, sometime a groome 
May not be spared from his roome. 

THE NATURE OF THE CHESSE MEN. 

The King is stately, looking hie ; 

The Queene doth beare like maiestie : 

The Knight is hardie, valiant, wise : 

The Bishop prudent and precise. 

The Rookes no raungers out of raie *, 
The Pawnes the pages in the plaie. 

LENVOY. 

Then rule with care, and quicke conceit, 
And right with knowledge, as with force ; 
So beare a braine, to dash deceit, 
And worke with reason and remorse. 

Forgive a fault when young men plaie, 
So giue a mate, and go your way. 

Raie, for array ; order, rank. So Spencer. 
" And all the damzels of that towne in ray, 
Came dauuring forth, and ioyous carrols song :" 

Faerie Queene, book v. canto xi. 34. 



273 

And when you plaie beware of checke, 
Know how to saue and giue a necke : 
And with a checke beware of mate; 
But cheefe, ware had I wist too late : 
Loose not the Queene, for ten to one, 
If she be lost, the game is gone." 



vii. Essayes and Characters of a Prison and Prisoners. 
Written by G. M. of G rayes'-Inne, Gent. (Wood- 
cut of a keeper standing with the hatch of a pri- 
son open, in his left hand a staff, the following 
lines at the side ; 

" Those that keepe mee, I keepe ; if can, will still : 
Hee's a true Iaylor strips the Diuell in ill.") 

Printed at London for Mathezo Walbancke and are to be 
solde at his shops at the new and old Gate ofGrayes-Inne. 
1618. 

[4to. pp. 48. title, dedication, &c. eight more.] 

A second edition appeared in 1638, and, as the title 
informs us, " with some new additions •** what these 
were I am not able to state, as my copy, although it ap- 
pears perfect, contains precisely the same with that of 
1618. 

Of Geffray Mynshul, as he signs his name to the de- 
dication, I can learn no particulars, but I have reason to 
suppose him descended from an ancient and highly 



274 



respectable family, residing at Minshull, in the county of 
Chester*, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centu- 
ries. By what mishap he became an inmate of the 
King's-bench prison, from when he dates f his Essayes, 
it is impossible to conjecture, but as he talks of usury 
and extortion, as well as of severe creditors ; and advises 
those who are compelled to borrow, to pay as soon as 
they can, we may suppose that imprudence and extra- 
vagance assisted in reducing him to the situation he at- 
tempts to describe. 

In the dedication to his uncle, u Mr. Matthew Main- 
waring t, of Namptwich, in Cheshire," he says: — 
" Since my comming into this prison, what with the 
strangenesse of the place, and strictnesse of my liberty, 
I am so transported that I could not follow that study 
wherein I tooke great delight and cheife pleasure, and 
to spend my time idley would but adde more discon- 

* In the church of St. Mary, at Nantwich, in that county, 
is a monument erected by Geofry Minshull, of Stoke, Esq. 
to the memory of his ancestors. Historical Account of Nant- 
wich, 8vo. 1774, page S3. King, in his Vale Royal of England ', 
folio, Lond. 1656, page 74, speaks of Minshall-hall, " a very 
ancient seat, which hath continued the successions of a wor- 
shipfuil race in its own name" — &c. 

t This place of residence was omitted in the second edition. 

$ The Maiuwaringi were an old family of repute, being 
mentioned as residing near Nantwich, by Leland, Itin. vol. 7. 
pt. i, fob 43. See also the list o^ escheators of Cheshire, in 
Loycest&r's Historical Antiquities, folio, Lond. 1673, p. 186. 



275 



tentments to my troubled brest, and being in this 
chaos of discontentments, fantasies must arise, which 
will bring forth the fruits of an idle braine, for e mails 
minimum. It is farre better to giiie some accompt of 
time, though to little purpose, than none at all. To 
which end I gathered a handfull of essayes, and few 
characters of such things as by my owne experience I 
could say Probatum est : not that thereby I should 
either please the reader, or shew exquisitenes of inuen- 
tion, or curious stile ; seeing what I write of is but the 
child of sorrow, bred by discontentments, and nou- 
risht vp with misfortunes, to whose help melancholly 
Saturne gaue his iudgement, the night-bird her inuen- 
tion, and the ominous rauen brought a quill taken from 
his owne wing, dipt in the inke of misery, as chiefe 
ayders in this architect of sorrow." 



" CHARACTER OF A PRISONER. 

A prisoner is an impatient patient, lingring vnder 
the rough hands of a cruell phisitian: his creditor hauing 
cast his water knowes his disease, and hath power to 
cure him, but takes more pleasure to kill him. He is 
like Tantalus, who hath freedome running by his 
doore, yet cannot enioy the least benefit thereof. His 
greatest griefe is that his credit was so good and now 
no better. His land is drawne within the compasse of 
a sheepe's skin, and his owne hand the ibrthication that 
barres him of entrance : hee is fortunes tossing-bal, an 
t 2 



276 



obiect that would make mirth melancholy: to his friends 
an abiect, and a subiect of nine dayes' wonder in euery 
barber's shop, and a mouthfull of pitty (that he had no 
better fortune) to midwiues and talkatiue gossips ; and 
all the content that this transitory life can giue him 
seemes but to flout him, in respect the restraint of li- 
berty barres the true vse. To his familiars hee is like a 
plague, whom they dare scarce come nigh for feare of 
infection, he is a monument ruined by those which 
raysed him, he spends the day with a hei mihi ! ve mi- 
serum ! and the night with a nullis est medicabilis herbis." 



viii. Cvres for the Itch. Characters. Epigrams. Epitaphs, 
By H. P. Scalpat qui tangitur. London, Printed for 
Thomas Tones, at the signe of the Blacke Rauen in the 
Strand. 1626. [8vo. containing pp. 142, not num- 
bered.] 

I have little doubt but that the initials H. P. may be 
attributed with justice to Henry Parrot, author of La- 
quel ridkulosi : or, Springes for Woodcocks, a collection of 
epigrams, printed at London in 1613 *, 8vo. and com- 
mended by Mr. Warton, who says, that " many of them 

* Mr. Steevens quotes an edition in 1606, but the preface 
expressly states, that they were composed in 1611.—" Duo 
propemodum anni elapsi sunt, ex quo primum Epigrammata 
hac (qualiacunque) raptim etfestinanter perficiebam"—&ic. 



277 

are worthy to be revived in modern collections *. To 
the same person I would also give The Mastive, or Young 
Whelpe of the Old Dogge. Epigrams and Saty?*s. Lond. 
(Date cut off in the Bodleian copy,) 4to. — The Mouse 
Trap, consisting of 100 Epigrams, 4to. 1606. — Epigrams 
by H. P. 4ito. 1608. — and The More the Merrier : con- 
taining three-score and odde headlesse Epigrams, shot (like 
the Fooles bolt) amongst you, light where they will, 4to. 
1608 f. 

It appears from the Preface to Cures for the Itch, that 
the Epigrams and Epitaphs were written in 1624, during 
the author's residence in the country, at the " long vaca- 
tion" and the Characters %, which are " not so fully per- 
fected as was meant," were composed " of later times." 
The following afford as fair a specimen of this part of 
the volume as can be produced. 

" a scold. (B. 5.) 

Is a much more heard of, then least desired to bee 
seene or knowne, she-kinde of serpent ; the venom'd 
sting of whose poysonous tongue, worse then the biting 
of a scorpion, proues more infectious farre then can be 

* History of English Poetry, iv. 73. 

t Censura Literaria, iii. 387, 388. 

+ These consist of a ballad-maker; a tapster; a drunkard; 
a rectified young man; a young nouice's new yonger wife ; 
a cornm on fidler ; a broker ; a iouiall good fellow ; a hu- 
mourist ; a malepart yong upstart ; a scold ; a good wife, 
and a selfe conceited parcell- witty old dotard. 



278 



cured. Shee's of all other creatures most vntameablest, 
and couets more the last word in scoulding, then doth a 
Combater the last stroke for victorie. She lowdest 
lifts it standing at her door, bidding, w th exclamation, flat 
defiance to any one sayes blacke's her eye. She dares 
appeare before any iustice, nor is least daunted with the 
sight of counstable, nor at worst threatnings of a cuck- 
ing-stcole. There's nothing mads or moues her more to 
outrage, then but the very naming of a wispe, or if you 
sing or whistle when she is scoulding. If any in the in- 
terim chance to come within her reach, twenty to one 
she scratcheth him by the face; or doe but offer to hold 
her hands, sheel presently begin to cry out murder. 
There's nothing pacifies her but a cup of sacke, which 
taking in full measure of digestion, shee presently for- 
gets all wrongs that's done her, and thereupon falls 
streight a weeping. Doe but intreat her with faire 
words, or flatter her, she then confesseth all her imper- 
fections, and layes the guilt vpon the whore her mayd. 
Her manner is to talke much in her sleepe, what 
wrongs she hath indured of that rogue her husband, 
whose hap may be in time to dye a martyr; and so I 
leaue them." 

" a coon WIFE, 

Is a world of happiness, that brings with it a kingdom 
in conceit, and makes a perfect adiunct in societie; 
shee's sqch a comfort as exceeds content, and proues so 
precious as canot be paralleld, yea more inestimable then 
may be valued. Shee's any good man's better second 



279 



second selfe, the very mirror of true constant modesty, 
the carefull huswife of frugalitie, and dearest obiect of 
man's heart's felicitie. She commands with mildnesse, 
rules with discretion, Hues in repute, and ordereth all 
things that are good or necessarie. Shee's her husband's 
solace, her house's ornament, her children's succor, and 
her seruant's comfort. Shee's (to be briefe) the eye of 
warinesse^j the tongue of silence, the hand of labour, 
and the heart of loue. Her voice is musicke, her coun- 
tenance meeknesse ; her minde vertuous, and her soule 
gratious. Shee's a blessing giuen from God to man, a 
sweet companion in his affliction, and ioynt co-partnex; 
upon all occasions. Shee's (to conclude) earth's chiefest 
paragon, and will bee, when shee dyes, heauen's dearest 
creature." 



ix. Characters of Vertves and Vices. In two Bookes. By 
los. Hall. Imprinted at London, 1627. 

The above is copied from a separate title in the col- 
lected works of Bishop Hall, printed in folio, and dedi- 
cated to James the First. The book, I believe, origi- 
nally appeared in 8vo. 1608 *. Of this edition I have 
in vain endeavoured to procure some information, al- 
though I cannot fancy it to be of any peculiar rarity. 

* See Brand's Sale Catalogue, 8vo. 1807, page 115, No, 

3147. 



280 



The volume contains a dedication to Edward Lord 
Denny, and James Lord Hay, a premonition of the title 
and use of characters, the proemes, eleven virtuous cha- 
racters, and fifteen of a different discription. As Bi- 
shop Hall's collected works have so lately appeared in a 
new edition, and as Mr. Pratt * proposes to add a life of 
the author in a subsequent volume, I shall forbear 
giving any specimen from the works or biographical 
notices of this amiable prelate, recommending the pe- 
rusal of his excellent productions, to all who admire 
the combination of sound sense with unaffected de- 
votion. 



x. Micrologic Characters, or Essay es, of Persons, Trades, 
and Places, offered to the City and Country, By R. 
M. Printed at London by T. C.for Michael Sparke, 
dwelling at the blue Bible, in Greene Arbor, 1629. 

[8vo. containing 56 pages, not numbered.] 

The characters in this volume are u A fantasticke 
taylor; a player; a shooe-maker; a rope-maker; a 
smith; a tobacconist ; a cunning woman ; a cobler; a 
tooth-drawer; a tinker; a fidler; a cunning horse- 
courser; Bethlem; Ludgate; Bridewell; (and) New- 
gate."— 

• See the Gentleman's Magazine for October, 1810, 
LXXXI. 317. 



281 



" A PLAYER. — (Sign. B. ill.) 

Is a volume of various conceits or epitome of time, 
who by his representation and appearance makes things 
long past seeme present. He is much like the compters 
in arithmeticke, and may stand one while for a king, 
another while a begger, many times as a mute or cy- 
pher. Sometimes hee represents that which in his life 
he scarse practises — to be an honest man. To the point, 
hee oft personates a rover, and therein comes neerest to 
himselfe. If his action prefigure passion, he raues, 
rages, and protests much by his painted heauens, and 
seemes in the heighth of this fit ready to pull Ioue out 
of the garret, where pershance hee lies leaning on his 
elbowes, or is imployed to make squips and crackers to 
grace the play. His audience are often-times iudicious, 
but his chiefe admirers are commonly young wanton 
chamber-maids, who are so taken with his posture and 
gay clothes, they neuer come to be their owne women 
after. Hee exasperates men's enormities in publike 
view, and tels them their faults on the stage, not as 
being sorry for them, but rather wishes still hee might 
finde more occasions to worke on. He is the generall 
corrupter of spirits, yet vntainted, inducing them by 
gradation to much lasciuious deprauity. He is a per- 
spicuity of vanity in variety, and suggests youth to per- 
petrate such vices, as otherwise they had haply nere 
heard of. He is (for the most part) a notable hypocrite 
seeming what he is not, and is indeed what hee seemes 
pot. .And if hee lose one of his fellow stroules, in the 



summer he turnes king of the gipsies : if not, some great 
man's protection is a sufficient warrant for his peregri- 
nation, and a meanes to procure him the town-hall, 
where hee may long exercise his qualities, with clown- 
claps of great admiration, in a tone sutable to the large 
eares of his illiterate auditorie. Hee is one seldome 
takes care for old age, because ill diet and disorder, to- 
gether with a consumption, or some worse disease, taken 
vp in his full careere, haue onely chalked out his catas- 
trophe but to a colon : and he scarsely suruiues to his 
naturall period of dayes." 



xi. Whimzies: Or, Anew Cast of Characters. Nova, non 

nota delectant, London, Printed by F. K. and are 

to be sold by Ambrose Riihirdon^ at the slgne of the 

Bulfs-head, in Paul's Church-yard. 1631. 

[l2mo. containing in all, pp. 230.] 

The dedication to this volume, which is inscribed to 

sir Alexander Radcliffe, is signed " Clitus—Alexandri- 

nus ;" the author's real name I am unable to discover. 

It contains twenty-four characters *, besides " A cater- 

* An almanack-maker ; a ballad-monger ; a corranto- 
coiner ; a decoy ; an exchange man ; a forrester ; a gamester ; 
an hospitall-man ; a iayler ; a keeper ; a launderer ; a metall 
man; a neuter; an ostler; a post-master: a quest-man; a 
rnffian ; a sailor : a trauller ; an vnder sheriffe ; a wine- 
soaker ; a Xantippean ; a yealous neighbour ; a zealous bro- 
ther. 



283 



character t throwne out of a boxe hj an experienced game* 
ster?;' and some lines " vpon the birth-day of his 
sonne Iorm,'' of which the first will be sufficient to sa- 
tisfy all curiosity. 

" God blesse thee, Iohn, 

And make thee such an one 
That I may ioy 

in calling thee my son. 

Thou art my ninth, 

and by it I divine 
That thou shalt live 

to love the Muses nine."— &c. &c. 

" A C0RRANT0-C0INER — (p. 15.) 

Is a state newes-monger ; and his owne genius is his 
intelligencer. His mint goes weekely, and he coines 
monie by it. Howsoeuer, the more intelligent mer- 
chants doe jeere him, the vulgar doe admire him, hold- 
ing his novels oracular: and these are usually sent for 
tokens or intermissiue curtsies betwixt city and countrey. 
Hee holds most constantly one forme or method of dis- 
course. He retaines some militarie words of art, which 
hee shootes at randome ; no matter where they hitt, 
they cannot wound any. He ever leaves some passages 

* This eater-character, which possesses a separate title 
page, contains delineations of an apparatorj a painter j a 
pedler ; and a piper. 



284 



doubtfull, as if they were some more intimate secrecies 
of state, dozing his sentence abruptly with — heereqfter 
you shall heare more. Which words, I conceive, he onely 
useth as baites, to make the appetite of the reader more 
eager in his next week's pursuit for a more satisfying 
labour. Some generall-erring relations he pickes up, 
as crummes or fragments, from a frequented ordinarie : 
of which shreads he shapes a cote to fit any credulous 
foole that will weare it> You shall never observe him 
make any reply in places of publike concourse; hee 
ingenuously acknowledges himselfe to bee more bounden 
to the happinesse of a retentive memory, than eyther 
ability of tongue, or pregnancy of conceite. He car- 
ryes his table-booke still about with him, but dares not 
pull it out publikely. Yet no sooner is the table drawne, 
than he turnes notarie ; by which meanes hee recovers 
the charge of his ordinarie. Paules is his walke in win- 
ter; Moorfields* in sommer. Where the whole disci- 
pline, designes, projects, and exploits of the States, Ne- 
therlands, Poland, Svvitzer, Crimchan and all, are within 
the compasse of one quadrangle walke most judiciously 

* Moorfields were a general promenade for the citizens of 
London, during the summer months. The ground was left to 
the city by Mary and Catherine, daughters of sir William 
Fines, a Knight of Rhodes, in the reign of Edward the Con- 
fessor. Richard Johnson, a poetaster of the sixteenth cen- 
tury, published in 1607, The Pleasant Walkes of Moore-fields. 
Being the Guift of two Sisters, now beautified, to the continuing 
fame of this worthy Citty. 4to. black-letter, of which Mr. 
Gough, (Brit. Topog.) who was ignorant of the above, no- 
tices an impression in 1617. 



2§5 



and punctually discovered. But long he must not 
walke, lest hee make his newespresse stand. Thanks to 
his good invention, he can collect much out of a very 
little: no matter though more experienced judgements 
disprove him ; hee is anonymos, and that wil secure 
him. To make his reports more credible or, (which he 
and his stationer onely aymes at,) more vendible, in the 
relation of every occurrent he renders you the day of 
the moneth ; and to approve himselfe a scholler, he an- 
nexeth these Latine parcells, or parcell-gilt sentences, 
veteri stylo, novo stylo. Palisados, parapets, counter- 
scarfes, forts, fortresses, rampiers, bulwarks, are his 
usual dialect. Hee writes as if he would doe some mis- 
chiefe, yet the charge of his shot is but paper. Hee will 
sometimes start in his sleepe, as one affrighted with vi- 
sions, which I can impute to no other cause but to the 
terrible skirmishes which he discoursed of in the day- 
time. He has now tyed himselfe apprentice to the 
trade of minting, and must weekly performe his taske, 
or (beside the losse which accrues to himselfe,) he dis- 
appoints a number of no small fooles, whose discourse, 
discipline, and discretion, is drilled from his state-service. 
These you shall know by their Mondai's morning ques- 
tion, a little before Exchange time ; Stationer, have you 
any nezces? Which they no sooner purchase than pe- 
ruse ; and, early by next morning, (lest their countrey 
friend should be deprived of the benefit of so rich a 
prize,) they freely vent the substance of it, with some 
illustrations, if their understanding can furnish them 
that way. He would make you beleeve that hee were 



knowne to some forraine intelligence, but I hold hirrt 
the wisest man that hath the least faith to beleeve him. 
For his relations he stands resolute, whether they be- 
come approved, or evinced for untruths ; which if they 
bee, hee has contracted with his face never to blush for 
the matter. Hee holds especiall concurrence with two 
philosophicall sects, though hee bee ignorant of the te- 
nets of either : in the collection of his observations, he 
is peripateticall, for hee walkes circularly ; in the di- 
gestion of his relations he is Stoicall, and sits regularly. 
Hee has an alphabeticall table of all the chiefs com- 
manders, generals, leaders, provinciall townes, rivers, 
ports, creekes, with other fitting materials to furnish 
his imaginary building. Whisperings, muttrings, and 
bare suppositions, are sufficient grounds for the autho- 
rise of his relations. It is strange to see with what 
greedinesse this ayrie Chameleon, being all lungs and 
winde, will swallow a receite of newes, as if it were phy- 
sicall : yea, with what frontlesse insinuation he will 
scrue himselfe into the acquaintance of some knowing 
Intelligencers, who, trying the cask by his hollow sound, 
do familiarly gull him. I am of opinion, were all his 
voluminous centuries of fabulous relations compiled; 
they would vye in number with the Iliads of many fore- 
running ages. You shall many times finde in his Ga- 
zettas, pasquils, and corrantos miserable distractions ; 
here a city taken by force long before it bee besieged ; 
there a countrey laid waste before ever the encmie en- 
tered. He many times tortures his readers with imper- 
tinencies. yet are these the tolerablest passages through- 



287 



out all his discourse. He is the very landskip of our age. 
He is all ayre ; his care alwayes open to all reports, 
which, how incredible soever, must passe for currant., 
and find vent, purposely to get him currant money, and 
delude the vulgar. Yet our best comfort is, his chymeras 
live not long ; a weeke is the longest iu the citie, and 
after their arrival, little longer in the countrey ; which 
past, they melt like Buttery or match a pipe, and so 
Burne *. But indeede, most commonly it is the height 
of their ambition to aspire to the imployment of stop« 
ping mustard-pots, or wrapping up pepper, pouder, 
staves-aker, &c. which done, they expire. Now for his 
habit, Wapping and Long-lane will give him his cha- 
racter. Hee honours nothing with a more indeered ob* 
servance, nor hugges ought with more intimacie than 
•antiquitie, which he expresseth even in his cloathes. I 
have knowne some love fish best that smelled of the 
panyer ; and the like humour reignes in him, for hee 
loves that apparele best that has a taste of the broker. 
Some have held him for a scholler, but trust mee such 
are in a palpable errour, for hee never yet understood so 
much Latine as to construe Gallo-Belgicus. For his li- 
brarie (his owne continuations excepted,) it consists of 

* This is certainly intended as a pun upon the names of two 
news-venders or corranto-coiners of the day. Nathaniel Butter, 
the publisher of *' The certain Newes of this present Week" 
lived at the Pyde-Bull, St. Austin's-gate, and was the proprie- 
tor of several of the intelligencers, from 1622 to about 1640. 
Nicholas Bourne was a joint partner with Butter in The 
Sweedish Intelligencer, 4to. Lond. 1632, 



283 



very few or no bookes. He holds himselfe highly en- 
gaged to his invention if it can purchase him victuals ; 
for authors hee never converseth with them, unlesse 
they walke in Paules. For his discourse it is ordinarie, 
yet hee will make you a terrible repetition of desperate 
commanders, unheard of exployts ; intermixing withall 
his owne personal! service. But this is not in all com- 
panies, for his experience hath sufficiently informed him 
in this principle — that as nothing workes more on the 
simple than things strange and incredibly rare; so no- 
thing discovers his weaknesse more among the know- 
ing and judicious than to insist, by way of discourse, on 
reports above conceite. Amongst these, therefore, hee 
is as mute as a fish. But now imagine his lampe (if he 
be worth one,) to be neerely burnt out ; his inventing 
genius wearied and surfoote with raunging over so 
many unknowne regions ; and himselfe, wasted with the 
fruitlesse expence of much paper, resigning his place of 
weekly collections to another, whom, in hope of some 
little share, hee has to his stationer recommended, 
while he lives either poorely respected, or dyes miserably 
suspended. The rest I end with his owne cloze : — Next 
weeke you shall heart more." 



289 



xii. Pictura loguentes : or Pictures drawne forth in Cha- 
racters. With a Poeme of a Maid. By Wye Sal- 
tonstall. Ne sutor ultra crepidam. London : Printed 
by T. Coles, $c. 1631. 12mo. 

I have copied the above title from an article in the 
Censura Literaria*, communicated by Mr. Park, of 
whose copious information, and constant accuracy on 
every subject connected with English literature, the pub- 
lic have many specimens before them. 

Saltonstall's f Characters, &c. reached a second edition 
in 1635. A copy of this rare volume is in the possession 
of Mr. Douce, who, with his accustomed liberality, per- 
mitted my able and excellent friend, Mr. John James 
Park, to draw up the following account of it for the pre- 
sent volume. 

To " The Epistle dedicatory" of this impression, the 
initials (or suchlike) of dedicatee's name only are given, 
for, says the dedicator, " I know no fame can redound 
unto you by these meane essayes, which were written, 
Ocium magis foventes, quam studentes gloria, as sheap- 
heards play upon their oaten pipes, to recreate them- 
selves, not to get credit." 

* Vol. 5, p. 372. Mr. Park says that the plan of the cha- 
racters was undoubtedly derived from that of Overbury, but, 
he adds, the execution is greatly superior. Four stanzas 
from the poCm entitled, A Maid, are printed in the same * 
volume. 

t An account of the author may be found in the Athena? 
Oxon. Vol. 1. col. 640. 

u 



290 



" To the Reader.— Since the title is the first leafe 
that cometh under censure, some, perhaps, will dislike 
the name of pictures, and say, I have no colour for it, 
which I confesse, for these pictures are not drawne in 
colours, but in characters, representing to the eye of the 
minde divers severall professions, which, if they appeare 
more obscure than I coulde wish, yet I would have you 
know that it is not the nature of a character, to be as 
smooth as a bull-rush, but to have some fast and loose 
knots, which the ingenious reader may easily untie. 
The first picture is the description of a maide, which 
young men may read, and from thence learn to know, 
that vertue is the truest beauty. The next follow in 
their order, being set together in this little book, that in 
winter you may reade them ad ignem, by the fire-side, 
and in summer ad umbram, under some shadie tree, and 
therewith passe away the tedious howres. So hoping of 
thy favourable censure, knowing that the least judicious 
are most ready to judge, I expose them to thy view, with 
Apelles motto, Ne sutor, ultra crepidam. Lastly, whe- 
ther you like them, or leave them, yet the author bids 
you welcome. 

" Thine as mine, 

W. S." 

The Original Characters are, 

1. The world. 5. A true lover. 

2. An old man. 6. A countrey bride. 

3. A woman. 7. A plowman. 

4. A widdow 8. A melancholy man. 



pi 

9. A young heire. 18. A chamberlaine. 

10. A scholler in the uni- 19. A mayde. 

versity. 20. A bayley. 

11. A lawyer's clarke. 21. A countrey fayre. 

12. A townsman in Oxford. 22. A countrey alehouse. 

13. An usurer. 23. A horse-race. 

14. A wandering rogue. 24. A farmer's daughter. 

15. A waterman. 25. A keeper. 

16. A shepheard. 26. A gentleman's house in 

17. A jealous man. the countrey. 

The Additions to the second Edition are, 

27. A fine dame. 34. The tearme. 

28. A country dame. 35. A mower. 

29. A gardiner. S6. A happy man. 

30. A captaine. 37. An arrant knave. 

31. A poore village. 38. An old waiting gentle- 

32. A merry man. woman, 

33. A scrivener. 

" THE TEARME 

Is a time when Justice keeps open court for all com- 
mers, while her sister Equity strives to mitigate the ri- 
gour of her positive sentence. It is called the Tearme, 
because it does end and terminate busines, or else be- 
cause it is the Terminus ad quem, that is, the end of the 
countrey man's journey, who comes up to the Tearme, 
and with his hobnayle shooes grindes the faces of the 
poore stones, and so returnes againe. It is the soule of 
the yeare ; and makes it quicke, which before was dead. 
v 2 



292 



Inkeepers gape for it as earnestly as shelfish doe for 
salt water after a low ebbe. It sends forth new bookes 
into the world, and replenishes Paul's walke with fresh 
company, where Quid novi ? is their first salutation, 
and the weekely newes their chiefe discourse. The ta- 
vernes are painted against the tearme, and many a 
cause is argu'd there and try'd at that barre, where you 
are adjudg'd to pay the costs and charges, and so dis- 
mist with ' welcome gentlemen/ Now the citty puts 
her best side outward, and a new play at the Blackfryers 
is attended on with coaches. It keepes watermen from 
sinking and helpes them with many a fare voyage to 
Westminster. Your choyse beauties come up to it onely 
to see and be seene, and to learne the newest fashion, 
and for some other recieations. Now monie that has 
beene long sicke and crasie, begins to stirre and walke 
abroad, especially if some youngprodigalls come to towne, 
who bring more money than wit. Lastly, the tearme is 
the joy of the citty, a deare friend to countrymen, and 
is never more welcome than after a long vacation." 



xiii. London and Country carbonadoed and quartered into 
scucrall Characters. By Donald Lupton, 8vo. 1632. 

[See British Bibliographer, i. 464 j and Brand's Sale 
Catalogue, page 66, No. 175 J.] 



293 

xiv. Character of a Gentleman, appended to Brath wait's 
Eiiglish Gentleman, 4to. London, by Felix King- 
ston, $c. 1633. 



XV. " A strange Metamorphosis of Man, transformed into 
a Wildernesse. Deciphered in Characters. London f 
Printed by Thomas Harper, and are to be sold by 
Lawrence Chapman at his shop in Hoiborne, 1634." 

[l§mo. containing pp. 296, not numbered.] 

This curious little volume has been noticed by Mr. 
Haslewood, in the Censura Literaria (vii. 284.) who 
says, with justice, that a rich vein of humour and 
amusement runs through it, and that it is the apparent 
lucubration of a pen able to perform better things. Of 
the author's name I have been unable to procure the 
- least intelligence. 

" THE HORSE (No. Ij6.) 

Is a creature made, as it were, in waxe. When Na- 
ture first framed him, she took a secret complacence in 
her worke. He is even her master-peece in irracionall 
things, borrowing somewhat of all things to set him 
forth. For example, his slicke bay coat hee tooke from 
the chesnut ; his necke from the rainbow, which per- 
haps make him rain so wel. His maine belike he took 
from Pegasus, making him a hobbie to make this a com- 



294 

pleat gennet *, which main he weares so curld, much 
after the women's fashions now adayes ; — this I am 
sure of howsoever, it becomes them, [and] it sets forth 
our gennet well. His legges he borrowed of the hart, 
with his swiftnesse, which makes him a true courser 
indeed* The starres in his forehead hee fetcht from 
heaven, which will not be much mist, there being so 
man}-. The little head he hath, broad breast, fat but- 
ted: c, and thicke tayle are properly his owne, for he 
knew not where to get him better. If you tell him of 
the homes he wants to make him most compleat, he 
scornes the motion, and sets them at his heele. He is 
well shod especially in the upper leather, for as for his 
soles, they are much at reparation, and often faine to be 
removed. Nature seems to have spent an apprenti- 
ship of yeares to make you such a one, for it is full seven 
yeares ere hee comes to this perfection, and be fit for the 
saddle : for then (as we,) it seemes to come to the yeares 
of discretion, when he will shew a kinde of rationall 
judgement with him, and if you set an expert rider on 
his backe, you shall see how spnsiblie they will talke to- 
gether, as master and scholler. When he shall be no 

* Mr. Steevens, in a note to Othello, explains a jennet to 
be a Spanish horse ; but from the passage just given, I confess 
it appears to me to mean somewhat more. Perhaps a jennet 
was a horse kept solely for pleasure, whose mane was suffered 
to grow to a considerable length, and was then ornamented 
with platting, &c.— A hobby might answer to what we now 
term a hogged poney. 



295 



sooner mounted and planted in the seat with the reins 
in one hand, a switch in the other, and speaking with 
his spurres in the horse's flankes, a language he wel 
understands, but he shall prance, curvet, and dance 
the canaries * halfe an houre together in compasse of a 

* The Canaries is the name of an old dance, frequently 
alluded to in our early English plays. Shakipeare uses it in 
All's well that ends well — 

■" I have seen a medicine, 

That's able to breathe life into a stone ; 

Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary 

With spritely fire and motion ;" 

Sir John Hawkins, in his History of Musick, iv. 391. says 
that it occurs in the opera of Dioclesian, set to music by Pur- 
cell, and explains it to be " a very sprightly movement of 
two reprises, or strains, with eight bars in each : the time 
three quarters in a bar, the first pointed." I take this oppor- 
tunity of mentioning, that among Dr. Rawlinson's MSS. in 
the Bodleian, [Poet. 108.] is a volume which contains 
a variety of figures of old dances, written, as I conjecture, 
between the years 1566 and 1580. Besides several others 
are the pavyan j my Lord of Essex measures ; iyntermell ; the 
old allmayne ; the longe pavian ; quanta dyspayne ; the nyne 
muses, dec. As the pavian is mentioned by Shakspeare, in 
the Merry Wives of Windsor, and as the directions for dancing 
the figure have not been before discovered, I shall make no 
apology for offering them in the present note. 

" THE LONGE PAVIAN, 

ij singles, a duble forward ; ij singles syde, a duble forward; 
replnce backe once, ij singles syde, a duble forward, one 



296 



bushel], and yet still, as he thinkes, get some ground, 
shaking the goodly plume on his head with a comely 
pride. This will our Bucephalus do in the lists : but 
when hee comes abroad into the fields, hee will play the 
countrey gentleman as truly, as before the knight in tur- 
nament. Ifthegamebe up once, and the hounds in 
chase, you shall see how he will pricke up his eares 
streight, and tickle at the sport as much as his rider 
shall, and laugh so loud, that if there be many of them, 
they will even drowne the rurall harmony of the dogges. 
When he travels, of all innes he loves best the signe of 
the silver bell, because likely there he fares best, espe- 
cially if hee come the first, and get the prize. He carries 
his eares upright, nor seldome ever lets them fall till they 
be cropt ofT, and after that, as in despight, will never 
weare them more. Plis taile is so essentiall to him, that 
if he loose it once hee is no longer an horse, but ever 
stiled a curtail. To conclude, he is a blade of Vulcan's 
forging, made for Mars of the best metal!, and the post 
of Fame to carrie her tidings through the world, who, if 
he knew his own strength, would shrewdly put for the 
monarchic of our wildernesse." 

single backe twyse, ij singles, a duble forward, ij singles syde, 
prerince backe once ; ij singles syde, a duble forward, re- 
prince backe twyse." 



297 



xvi. The true Character of an untrue Bishop : with a JRe- 
cipe at the end how to recover a Bishop if hee were 
lost. London, printed in the yeare 1641 *. 

[4to. pp. 10, besides title.] 



xvii. Character of a Projector, by — — Hogg. 4to. 1642, 



xviii. Character of an Oxford Incendiary. Printed for 
Robert White in 1643. 4to. 

[Reprinted in the Ilarleian Miscellany, V. 469. edit. 1744.] 



xix. The Reformado precisely charactered (with a frontis- 
piece.) 

[See the Sale Catalogue of George Steevens, Esq, 8vo. 
Lond. 1800. page 66. No. 1110.] 



XX. " A new Anatomie, or Character of a Christian or 
Round-head. Expressing his Description, Excel- 
lencie, Happiness and Innocencie. Wherein may 
appear how far this blind world is mistaken in their 
unjust Censures of him. Virtus in Arduis. Pro- 

* I have a faint recollection of a single character in a rare 
volume, entitled " A Boulster Lecture," &c. Lond. 1640, 



298 

verbs xii. 26; and Jude 10, quoted.) Imprimatur 
John Downame. London, Printed for Robert 
Leybourne, and are to be sold at the Star, under 
Peter's Church in Corn-hill, 1645. 8vo. pp. 13. 

[In Ashmole's Museum.] 



xxi. In Lord North's Forest of Varieties, London, Prijited 
by Richard Cotes, 1645, are several Characters, as 
lord Orford informs us, " in the manner of sir 
Thomas Overbury." Royal and Noble Authors, 
iii. 82. Of this volume a second edition appeared 
in 1659, neither of these, however, I have been 
able to meet with. For some account of the 
work, with extracts, see Brydges' Memoirs of the 
Peers of England, 8vo. London. 1^502. page 343. 



xxii. Characters and Elegies *. By Francis Worthy 
Knight and Baronet. Printed in iheyeere 1646." 4to. 

The characters are as follow : 

1. The character of his royall majestie ; 2. The cha- 
racter of the queene's majestie ; 3. The hopeful prince ; 
4. A true character of the illustrious James Duke of 
York ; 5. The character of a noble general ; 6. A true 

* Tlie Elegies, according to Wood, are upon the loyalists 
who lost their lives in the king's service, at the end of which 
are epitaphs. 



299 



English protestant ; 7. An antinomian,or anabaptisticall 
independent; 8. A jesuite; 9. The true character of a 
northerne lady, as she is wife, mother, and sister; 
10. The politique neuter; 11. The citie paragon; 12. A 
sharking committee-man ; 13. Britanicus his pedigree — 
a fatall prediction of his end; 14. The Phcenix of the 
Court. 

Britanicus his Pedigree — a fatall Prediction of his End. 

I dare affirme him a Jew by descent, and of the tribe 
of Benjamin, lineally descended from the first King of 
the Jewes, even Saul, or at best he ownes him and hi3 
tribe, in most we reade of them. First, of our English 
tribes, I conceive his father's the lowest, and the 
meanest of that tribe, stocke, or generation, and the 
worst, how bad soever they be ; melancholy he is, as 
appeares by his sullen and dogged wit; malicious as 
Saul to David, as is evident in his writings; he wants 
but Saul's javelin to cast at him ; he as little spares the 
king's friends with his pen, as Saul did Jonathan his 
sonne in his reproach ; and would be as free of his 
javelin as his pen, were his power sutable to his will, 
as Ziba did to Mephibosheth, so does he by the king, he 
belies him as much to the world, as he his master to Da- 
vid, and in the day of adversitie is as free of his tongue 
as Shimei was to his soveraigne, and would be as hum- 
ble as he, and as forward to meet the king as he was 
David, should the king returne in peace. Abithaes 
there cannot want to cut off the dog's head, but David 



300 

is more mercifull then Shimei can be wicked; may he 
first consult with the witch of Endor, but not worthy of 
so noble a death as his own sword, die the death of 
Achitophel for feare of David, then may he be hang'd 
up as the sonnes of Saul were against the sunne, or ra- 
ther as the Amelekites who slew Isbosheth, and brought 
tidings and the tokens of the treason to David; may 
his hands and his feet be as sacrifices cut off, and so pay 
for the treasons of his pen and tongue; may all heads 
that plot treasons, all tongues that speake them, all pens 
that write them, be so punisht. If Sheba paid his head 
for his tongue's fault, what deserves Britannicus to pay 
for his pen and trumpet? Is there never a wise woman 
in London ? we have Abishaes. 

Francis Wortley, was the son of Sir Richard Wortley, 
of Wortley, in Yorkshire, knight. At the age of seven- 
teen he became a commoner of Magdalen College, Ox- 
ford; in 1610 he was knighted, and on the 29th of June 
in the following year, was created a baronet; being then, 
as Wood says, esteemed an ingenious gentleman. During 
the civil wars he assisted the royal cause, by raising a 
troop of horse in the king's service; but at their conclu- 
sion he was taken prisoner, and confined in the tower 
of London, where it seems he composed the volume just 
noticed. In the Catalogue of Compounders his name ap- 
pears as " of Carleton, Yorkshire," and from thence we 
learn that he paid 500/. for his remaining property. In 
the Athena Oxonienscs may be found a list of his works, 
but I have been unable to trace the date of his decease. 



101 



Mr. Granger says that " Anne, his daughter, married the 
second son of the first Earl of Sandwich, who took the 
name of Wortley," and adds that the late Countess of 
Bute was descended from him. Biographical History, ii. 
310. 



xxiii. The Times anatomized, in sever all Characters. By 
T. T[ord, seruant to Mr. Sam. Man*.] Difficile 
est Satyram non scribere. Juv. Sat. 1. London, 
Printed for W. L. Anno 1647." 

[l2mo. in the British Museum.] 

The Contents of the sever all Characters. 

1. A good king. 13. An envious man. 

2. Rebelion. 14. True valour. 

3. An honest subject. 15. Time. 

4. An hypocritical convert 16. A newter. 

of the times. 17. A turn-coat. 

5* A souldier of fortune. 18. A moderate man. 

6. A discontented person. 19. A corrupt committee- 

7. An ambitious man. man. 

8. The vulgar. 20. A sectary. 

9. Errour. 21. Warre. 

10. Truth. 22. Peace. 

11. A selfe-seeker. 23. A drunkard. 

12. Pamphlets. 24. A novice-preacher. 

* (MS. interlineation in a ropy among the King's pamphlets.) 



302 

$5. A scandalous preacher. 29. Religion. 

26. A grave divine. 30. Death. 

27. A selfe-conceited man. 

** PAMPHLETS 

Are the weekly almanacks, shewing what weather is in 
the state, which, like the doves of Aleppo, carry news lo 
every part of the kingdom. They are the silent tray tors 
that affront majesty, and abuse all authority, under the 
colour of an Imprimatur. Ubiquitary flies that have of 
late so blistered the eares of all men, that they cannot 
endure any solid truth. The ecchoes, whereby what is 
done in part of the kingdome, is heard all over. They 
are like the mushromes, sprung up in a night, and dead 
in a day; and such is the greedinesse of men's natures 
(in these Athenian dayes) of new, that they will rather 
feigne then want it." 



xxiv. Character af a London Diurnal, 4to. 1647. [This 
was written by Cleveland, and has been printed 
in the various editions of his poems.] 



xxv. Character of an Agitator. Printed in the Yeare 
1647. 4to. pp. 7. 

This concludes with the following epitome — " Hee 
was begotten of Lilburne, (with Overton's helpe) in 



m 



Newgate, nursed up by Cromwell, at first by the army, 
tutored by Mr. Peters, counselled by Mr. Walwin and 
Musgarve, patronised by Mr. Martin, (who sometimes 
sits in counsell with them, though a member) and is like 
to dye no where but at Tyburne, and that speedily, if 
hee repent not and reforme his erronious judgement, 
and his seditious treasonable practises against king, 
parliament, and martiall discipline itselfe. Finis." 



xxvi. In Mr. Brand's Sale Catalogue, No. 1754, we have 
The Surfeit to A, B. C 3vo. Lond. 1656, which is 
there represented to consist of Characters. 



xxvii. Characters of a Temporizer and an Antiquary. 
[In " Naps upon Parnassus," 8vo. 1658. See 
the Censura Literaria, vol. vi. p. 225 ; vol. vii. 
p. 341.] 



xxviii. Satyrical Characters } and handsom Descriptions, 
in Letters, 8vo. 1658. [Catalogue of Thomas 
Britton the Small Coal Man, 4to. p. 19. No. 102.] 



xxix. A Character of England, as it zcas lately presented 
in a Letter to a Noble-man of France* With Re- 



304 



factions upon Gallus Castratus- The third jEc/<= 
tion. London. Printed for John Crooke, and are 
to he sold at the Ship in St. Paul's Church-Yard, 
J 659. 

(12mo. pp. 66, title and preface 20 more.) 



This very severe satire upon the English nation was 
replied to in the following publication, 



xxx. A Character of France, to which is added Gallus 
Castratus, or an Answer to a late slanderous Pam- 
phlet, called the Character of England. Si talia 
nefanda etfacinora quis non Democritus ? London, 
Printed for Nath. Brooke, at the Angel in Cornhill, 
1659. 



xxxi. A perfect Description of the People and Country of 
Scotland, London. Printed for J. S. 1659. 

(12mo. pp. 21. besides the title.) 



xxxii. A brief Character of the Low Countries under the 
States, being Three Weeks Observation of the Vices 
and Vcrtues of the Inhabitants. Non seria semper. 
London, Printed for U.S. and are to be sold bu 



305 

H. Lowndes, at the White Lion in St. Paul's Church 
Yard, neer the Utile North Boor, 1659. 
(12 mo. pp. 500. title, &c. 6 more.) 

Written by Owen Feltham, and appended to the se- 
veral folio editions of his Resolves. 



xxxiii. The Character of Italy : Or, The Italian Anato- 
mized by an English Chirurgion. Difficile est 
Satyr am non scribere. London : Printed for 
Nath. Brooke, at the Angel in Cornhil. 1660. 

[12mo. pp. 93, title and preface 12 more.] 



xxxiv. The Character of' Spain : Or, An Epitome of Their 
Virtues and Vices. 

— Adeo sunt mult a, loquacem 
Ut lassare queant Fabium. 

London : Printed for Nath. Brooke, at the Angel in Corn' 
Ml. 1660. 

[12mo. pp. 93, title, &c. 12 more.] 



xxxv. Essay es and Characters, by L. G. 8vo. 1661. 
[See Brand's Sale Catalogtie, No. 1754] 



306 



xxxvi. The Assembly-man, Written in J he Year 1647. 
London : Printed for Richard Marriot, and are to be 
sold at his shop under Si. Dunstan's Church, in Fleet' 
street, 1662—3 *. 

[4to. pp. 22.] 

Sir John Birkenhead was the author of this character, 
which was printed again in 1681, and in 1704 with the 
following title, " The Assemblyman. Written in the Year 
1647 ; but proves the true character of (Cerberus) the ob- 
servator, mdcciv." It was also reprinted in the Harleian 
Miscellany, v. 93. For an account of the author, see the 
Biographia Britannica, edit. Kippis, ii. 324. 



xxxvii. Fifty-fve\ Enigmatical Characters, all very ex- 
actly drawn [to the Life, from several Persons, 
Humours, Dispositions. Pleasant and full of 
Delight. By R. F. Esq. ; London : Printed for 
William Crook, at the sign of the Three Bibles 
on Fleet-bridge. 1665 %.» 

[8vo. pp. 135, title, index, &c. not numbered, 11 more.] 

* With a very curious and rare frontispiece. 
t I omit to particularize these characters, as many of the 
titles are extremely long—" of a lady of excellent conversa- 
tion. Of one that is the foyle of good conversation." &c. &c. 

X Mr. Reed possessed a copy, dated in 1658. See his Ca- 
talogue, No. 2098. 



£07 



Richard Flecknoe, the author of these characters, is 
more known from having his name affixed to one of the 
severest satires ever written by Dry den, than from any 
excellence, of his own as a poet or dramatic writer. Mr. 
Reed conceives him to have been a Jesuit, and Pope 
terms him an Irish priest. Langbaine says, that " his 
acquaintance with the nobility was more than with the 
muses, and he had a greater propensity to rhyming, than 
a genius to poetry.'' As a proof of the former assertion 
the Duke of Newcastle prefixed two copies of verses to 
his characters, in which he calls Flecknoe " his worthy 
friend," and says : 

" Flecknoe, thy characters are so full of wit 
And fancy, as each word is throng'd with it. 
Each line's a volume, and who reads would swear 
Whole libraries were in each character. 
Nor arrows in a quiver stuck, nor yet 
Lights in the starry skies are thicker set, 
Nor quills upon the armed porcupine, 
Than wit and fancy in this work of thine. 

W. Newcastle." 

To confirm the latter, requires only the perusal of his 
verses, which were published in 1653, under the title of 
Miscellania. Besides these, he wrote five* dramatic 

* Langbauae notices a prologue intended for a play, called 
The Physician against his Will, which he thinks was never 
published. A MS. note in my copy of the Dramatic Poets, 
says it was printed in 1712. 

X 2 



308 



pieces, the titles of which may be found in the Bio- 
graphia Dramatica ; a collection of Epigrams, 8vo. 
1670; Ten Years Travels in Europe. — A short Discourse 
of the English Stage, affixed to Love's Dominion, 8vo. 
1654; The Idea of his Highness Oliver, late Lord Protec- 
tor, Sfc. 8vo. 1659. &c. &c. * 

" CHAR ACT EE OF A VALIANT MAN."— (page 61 ) 

" He is onely a man ; your coward and rash being 
but tame and savage beasts. His courage is still the 
same, and drink cannot make him more valiant, nor 
danger lesse. His valour is enough to leaven whole ar- 
mies, he is an army himself worth an army of other 
men. His sword is not alwayes out like children's dag- 
gers, bur, he is alwayes last in beginning quarrels, though 
first in ending them. He holds honour (though delicate 
as chrystall) yet not so slight and brittle to be broak 
and crackt with every touch ; therefore (though most 
wary of it,) is not querilous nor punctilious. He is ne- 
ver troubled with passion, as knowing no degree beyond 

* The Bodleian library contains " The Affections of a 
pious Soule, unto our Saviour-Christ. Expressed in a mixed 
treatise of verse and prose. By Richard Fleclcnoe." 8vo. 
1640. This I can scarcely consent to give to Mac Flecknoe, 
as in the address " To the Town Reader," the author informs 
us that, " ashamed of the many idle hours he has spent, and 
to avoid the expence of more, he has retired from the town" 
— and we are certain that Mac resided there long after. 



309 



clear courage, and is alwayes valiant, but never furious* 
He is the more gentle i' th' chamber, more fierce he's in 
the field, holding boast (the coward's valour,) and 
cruelty (the beast's,) unworthy a valiant mam He is 
only coward in this, that he dares not do an unhand- 
some action. In fine, he can onely be evercome by 
discourtesie, and has but one deflect— he cannot talk 
much — to recompence which he dos the more." 



xxxviii. The Character of a Coffee-house, with the symptoms 
of a Town-witt. With Allowance- April 11, 1673. 
London, Printed for Jonathan Edwin, at the Three 
Roses in Ludgate-street, 1673. 

[Folio, reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, with an an- 
swer to it, vol. vi. 429 — 433.] 



xxxix. Essays of Love and Marriage : Being Letters 
written by two Gentlemen, one dissuading from 
Love, the other an Answer thereunto. With some 
Characters, and other Passages of Wit. 

— — — — - Si quando gravabere curis, 
Hac lege, pro moestae medkamine mentis habeto. 

London, Printed for H. Brome, at the Gun in St. Paul's 
Church-yard, 1673. 

[12mo. pp. 103, title, &c. 4 more.] 



310 



xl. The Character of a Fanatick. By a Person of Quality. 
London. 1675. 

[4to. pp. 8. Reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, vii. 
596.] 



xli. 



y 1675. 



Character (fa Towne Gallant 
of a Towne Miss 
of an honest drunken Curr 
of a pilfering Taylor 
of an Exchange Wench 
of a Sollicitor 
of a Scold 
of an ill Husband 
of a Dutchman 
of a Pawnbroker 
of a Tally Man 



4to. See Sale Catalogue of George Steevens, Esq. 8vo. 
London, 1800, page 66, No. 1110.] 



xlii. A Whip for a Jockey : or, a Character of an Horse- 
courser. 1677r London, Printed for R. IL 1677. 



[8vo. pp. 20.] 



311 



xliii. Four for a Penny 9 or Poor Robin's Character of an 

unconscionable Pawnbroker, and Earmark of an 

'■ oppressing Tally-man : with a friendly Description 

of a Bum-bailey , and his merciless setting cur, or 

follower. With Allowance. London, Printed for 

L. C. 1678. 

[4to. reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, vol. iv. p. 141.] 



xliv. Character of an ugly Woman : or, a Hue and Cry 
after Beauty, in prose, written (by the Duke of 
Buckingham) in 1678. See Lord Orford's Royal 
and Noble Authors, by Park, iii. 309. 



xlv. Character of a disbanded Courtier. Ingenium Galbte 
male habitat. 1681. 

[Folio, pp. 2. Reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, 
i. 356.] 



xlvi. Character of a certain ugly old P — ' London, 

Printed in the Year 1684. 

[In Oldham's Works, 8vo. London, 1684.] 



xlvii. Twelve ingenious Characters : or pleasant Descrip- 
tions of the Properties of sundry Persons and 
Things, viz. 



312 

An importunate dunn ; a Serjeant or bailiff ; a paun- 
broker ; a prison ; a tavern ; a scold ; a bud husband; a 
town-fop; a bared; a fair, and happy milk-maid; the 
quack's directory; a young ena?nourist. 

Licensed, June the 2d, 1681. R. P. London, printed for 
8. Norris,and are to be sold by most booksellers, 1686. 

[l2mo. pp. 48.] 



xlviii. Character of a Trimmer. By Sir William Coventry. 

1689. 

[4to. See Bibliothcca Harleiana, v. 4278.] 

This was written long before publication, as is proved 
by the following 



xlix. Character of a Tory in 1659, in answer to that of a 
Trimmer (never published) both written in King 
Charles's reign. 

[Reprinted in the Works of George Villiers, second T>uke 
of Buckingham. 4to. Lond. 1721.] 



1. Characters addressed to Ladies of Age. 8vo. Lond. 

1689. 

[Brand's Sale Catalogue, p. 66, No. 1747.] 



313 



li. The Ceremony-monger , his Character, in six Chap- 
ters, Sfc. 4'C By E. Hickeringill, Rector of the 
Rectory of All-Saints, in Colchester. London, 
Printed and are to be sold by George Larkin, at 
the Two Sznans, without Bishopsgate. 1689. 

[4to. pp. 66.] 



lii. Character of a Jacobite, 1690. 
[4to. See BibL Karl. v. No. 4279.] 



The following are without date, but were probably 
printed before 1700 *. 

liii. Character of an Ill-court-favourite, translated from the 
French. 

[4to. reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, ii. 50.] 



liv. Character of an honest and worthy Parliament-Man, 
[Folio, reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, ii. 336.] 



* In Butler's Remains, polished by Thyer, 2 vols. 8vo. 
1759, are several Characters by the author of Hudibras, and 
consequently written previously to this date, but as they do 
not appear to have been printed so early, they cannot, witlt 
propriety, be included in this list. 



314 

lv. Charade rism, or the Modern Age displayed, 
[Brand's Sale Catalogue, No. 1757.] 



lvi. Character of the Presbyterian Pastors and People of 

Scotland. 

[Bibl. Harleiana, v. No. 4280.] 



lvii. Character of acompleat Physician or Naturalist 
[Bibl. Harleiana, v. No. 4304.] 



• In the extracts made from the foregoing series of Cha- 
racters, the original orthography has been most scrupulously 
attended to, in order to assist in shewing the progress and 
variation of the English language. 



3J5 



ADDITIONAL NOTES AND CORRECTIONS. 



Page S, line 4. for ports read sports. 

4, line 12. " table-book" The custom of writing ia 
table-books, or, as it was then expressed, ** in 
tables," is noticed, and instances given in Reed's 
Shakspeare, vi, 13. xii, 170. xviii, 88. Dr. 
Farmer adduces a passage very applicable to 
the text, from Hall's character of the hypocrite. 
" He will ever sit where he may be seenebest, 
and in the midst of the sermon pulles out his 
tables'ui haste, as if he feared to loose that note," 
&c. Decker, in his Guls Hornebooke, page 8, 
speaking to his readers, says, " out with your 
tables;' &c. 

D\ note 6. — This is also mentioned in Whimzies, 
8vo. J 631, p. 57. " Hee must now betake 
himself to prayer and devotion ; remember the 
founder, benefactors, head, and members of that 
famous foundation : all which heperformes with 
as much zeale as an actor after the end of a 
play, when hee prayes for his majestie, the 
lords of his most honourable privie councell, 
and all that love the king." 



316 



Page 14, nctelO. — From a subsequent edition, obligingly 
pointed out to me by the rev. Mr. arch-deacon 
Nares, I find that this also is a translation : 
Regimen Sanitatis Salerni. This booke teach- 
yng all people to gouerne the in health, is trans- 
lated out of the Latine tongue into Englishe, by 
Thomas Paynell, zohiche booke is amended, aug- 
mented, and diligently imprinted, 1575. Colo- 
phon. H Jmprynted at London, by Wyllyam 
How, for Abraham Ueale. The preface says, 
that it was compiled for the use " of the moste 
noble and victorious kynge of England, and of 
Fraunce, by all the doctours in Phisicke of the 
Uniuersitie of Salerne." 

19, line 5, for " muchi" read much in. Line 8, in- 
sert comma at the end. 

ib. line 9, " door-posts." — It was usual for public 
officers to have painted or gilded posts at their 
doors, on which proclamations, and other do- 
cuments of that description, were placed, in 
order to be read by the populace. See various 
allusions to this custom, in Reed's Shakspeare, 
v. 267. Old Plays, iii. 803. The reformation 
means that they were, in the language of our 
modern churchwardens, " repaired and beau- 
tified," during the reign of our alderman. 

50, line 10, for Gollobelgicus read Gallobelgicus. 

53, line 7. " post and pair," was a game at cards, 
of which I can give no description. The author 



317 

of the Compleat Gamester notices it as " very 
much played in the West of England." See 
Dodsley's Old Plays, 1780. vii. 296. 

Page 54, line 9 — " guarded with more gold lace." The 
word guarded is continually used by the wri- 
ters of the sixteenth century for fringed or 
adorned. See Reed's Shakspeare, vii. 272. Old 
Plays, iv. 36. 

66, line 18, " clout." Shakspeare (Cytnbeline, act iv. 
scene 2.) uses the expression of clouted brogues, 
which Mr. Steevens explains to be " shoes 
strengthened with clout or 7<o6-nails." 

71, line 2. " dragon that pursued the woman" Evi- 
dently an allusion to Revelations, xii. 15. 

}03, note 8, line 2, for Sty la read Hyla in both in- 
stances. 

ib. note 10, line 5, for Leiden read Leyden. 

Ill, line 2, for his read is. 

132, line 10, " Their humanity is a leg to the resi- 
dencer." A leg here signifies a bow. Decker 
says, " a jewe neuer weares his cap threed- 
bare with putting it off; neuer bends i' th' 
hammes with casting away a leg f &c." Guls 
Hornebooke. p. 11. 

206, note 1, for spunge read sponge, 



318 

234, line 11, for spera read spero. 

235, line 9, for conjesta read congesta. 

ib. line 10, dele su at the end of the line. 

Page 260, line 2, for Jude read Inde ; for ferucat read 
ferueut. 

275, line 12, for whose read o^ose. 

Several errors and inaccuracies of less consequence 
than those here pointed out, will probably be discovered. 
These were occasioned by the editor's distance from the 
press, and he requests the gentle reader to pardon and 
correct them. 



The Inscription, No. x. of the Appendix, should have 
been entirely omitted. The following extract from 
Guillim's Heraldry, shews that Bishop Earle could not 
have been connected with the Streglethorp family, 
since, if he had, there would have been no occasion for 
a new grant of armorial bearings. 

" He beareth ermine, on a chief indented sable, three 
eastern crowns or, by the name of Earles. This coat 
was granted by Sir Edward Walker, garter, the 1st of 
August, 1660, to the Reverend Dr. John Earles, son of 
Thomas Earles, gent, sometime Register of the Arch- 
bishop's Court at Ynrh He was Dean of Westminster, 



319 



and Clerk of the Closet to his Majesty King Charles the 

Second ; and in the year 1663, made Bishop of Salisbury .* 

Guillim's Heraldry, folio. Lond. 1724. p. 282. 

It is almost unnecessary to add that I was not aware 
of this grant, when I compiled the short account of 
Earle, at page 211, and spoke of my inability to give 
any information relative to his parents. 



320 



INDEX 



Abishaes, 300. 
Abithaes, 299. 
Abraham-man, 249. 
Achitophel, 500. 
Acquaintance, Character of, 

164. 
Aeneas, 167. 
Affected man, character of, 

192. 
Affections of a pious Sbule, 

by Richard Flecknoe, 308 
Alderman, character of, 18. 
Aleppo, 302. 
Alexis of Piedmont, 13. 
Alfred, king, 4. 
Allmayne, 295. 
All's well thai ends well, by 

Shakspeare, 295. 
Allot, Robert, xi. 
Almanack in the bones, 41. 
Alresford, Hampshire, 237. 
Ames, Mr. xx, 247, 256. 
Amsterdam, 102. 
Anatomy of Melancholly, by 

Burton, 51,82, 257. 
Angglear, 248. 



Antem-morte, 250. 
Antiquary, character of, 22 
Aristophanes, 231. 
Aristotle, 9, 33. 
Arminian, 33. 
Arminius, 129. 
Ashmole's Museum, Oxford, 

224, 298. 
Atkinson, Mr. 237. 
Atkyns, Sir Robert, 45. 
Athena Oxonienses, by Wood, 

x, 238, 289, 300. 
Attorney, character of, 105 
Austin, 129. 
Awdeley, John, 256. 

Baal, priests of, 98. 
Babel, tower of, 24, 1 17. 
Bagster, Richard, 240. 

Baker, character of a, 125. 

Bales, Peter, 5, 6. 

BardoIph,118. 

Barnes, John, 83. 

Barnes, Juliana, 56. 

Barrington, Daines, 36. 

Barton, Elizabeth, 124. 



321 



Barwick, Dr. 215. Lfe of, 

216. 
Bawdy-basket, 249. 
Bayle, 102. 
Beaumont, Francis, 223, 

229, 230, 231. 
Beau's Duel, by Mrs. Cent- 
ime, 92. 
Bedford, Earl of, 13. 
Bellarmine, Cardinal, 7, 

102. 
Belinan of London, by 
Decker, 248. Copy, with 
Burton's MS. notes, 257. 
Benar, 255. 
Bene, 253. 
Benjamin, 299. 
Benjamin's mess, 124. 
Bessns, 232. 
Bethlem, 280. 
Bible, printed at Geneva, 3. 
Bibliographia Poetica, by 

Ritson, 267. 
Bibliotheca Harleiana, 312, 

313, 314. 
Biographia Britannica, 306. 
Biographia Dramatica, 308. 
Birkenhead, Sir John, 306.^ 
Bishopstone, 213, 215. 
Blackfriar's, playat, 292. 



Blomefleld's History of Nor- 
folk, 244. 
Blount, Edward, ix, x, xi, xx. 
Blount, Ralph, xx. 
Blunt man, character of, 135. 
Bobadil, 118. 
Bodleian Library, Oxford, 82, 

224, 225, 256, 260, 295, 308. 
Boke of hawkynge, huntynge, 

and fysshinge, 56. 
Bold forward man, character 

of, 122. 
Bong, 255. 
Books, mode of placing them 

in old libraries, 74. 
Bord, 254. 
Borgia, 89. 
Bouge, 253. 
Boulster, Lecture, 297. 
Bourne, Nicholas, 287. 
Bouse, 253, 254. 
Bousing-ken, 255. 
Bowl-alley, character of, 86. 
Brachigraphy, 5. 
Brand, Mr. 258, 292, 303, 305, 

312,314. 
Bread used in England in the 

sixteenth century, 52, 53. 
Breeches, 3. 
Breton, captain, 266. 

Y 



322 



Ereton, Nicholas, 15, 224, 

265, 267. Life of, 265. 
Breton's Longing, 267. 
Bridewell, 280. 
Britannicus, his pedigree, 

299. 
British Bibliographer, by 

Brydges, 256, 292. 
British Museum, xi, 301. 
British Topography, by 

Gough, an addition to, 

234. 
Britton, Thomas, 303. 
Brownist, 97. 
Brydges, Sir Samuel Eger- 

ton, 256, 266, 298. 
Bucephalus, 296. 
Bukingham, duke of, 225, 

311, 312. 
Bullen, earl of, 185. 
Burford, Oxfordshire, 287. 
Burroughs, Sir John, 223. 

Lines on, 225, 226. 
Burton, Robert, 51, 82, 257. 
Butler, Samuel, 313. 
Butter, Nathaniel, 287. 
Buttery, 144. 
Byng, 255. 

C. F. 261. 



Caeling cheat, 254. 

Caesar, 23. 

Caesars, the, 140. 

Calais sands, 91,92. 

Cambridge, 183. 

Camden, 81. 

Canarie^a dance, 295. 

Canary, 40, 41. 

Cant phrases, 248, 249, 253, 

254, 255. 
Capel, Mr. 258. 
Carrier, character of a, 44. 
Carte, 225. 
Casaubon, 129. 
Cassan, 254. 
Cassel, siege of, 31. 
Catalogue of Compounders for 

their Estates, 300. 
Cato, 70, 174. 
Caveat for Commen Cursetors, 

246. 
Censura Liteiaria, 257, 265, 

266, 267, 289, 293, 303. 
Centlivre, Mrs, 92. 
Centoes, 81. 
Century of Inventions, by the 

Marquis of Worcester, 36. 
Cerberus, 306. 
Chalmers, Mr. 51. 
Cham, 153. 



323 



Chandler, R. xii. 

( haracter of an agitator, 302 

of an antiquary, 303 

of an assembly -man, 

306. 

of an untrue bishop, 

297. ^; 
.of a ceremony-mon- 
ger, 313. 

of a coffee-house, 309. 

. of a disbanded cour- 
tier, 311. 

,o/ an illcourt-fa- 

vourite, 313. 

of an honest drunken 

cur, 310. 

of a Dutchman, 

310. 

of England, 303. 

of an exchange- 
wench, 310. 

* .of a fanatic, 310. 

of France, 304. 

of a town-gallant, 

310. 

of a horse-courser, 

310. 

of an ill husband, 

310. 

of the hypocrite, 

315. 



Character of a Jacobite, 313. 

of Italy, 305. 

of a London diurnal, 

302. 

of the Low Countries, 

304. 
of an Oxford incen- 
diary, 297. 

of a certain ugly old 

P— . 311. 
of an honest and wor- 
thy parliament man, 
313. 

of a pawnbroker, 310, 

311. 
of a complete physi- 
cian, or naturalist, 
314. 
....... .of the Presbyterian 

pastors and people 
of England, 314. 

..of a projector, 297. 

of a scold, 310. 

of Scotland, 304. 

of a solicitor, 310. 

of Spain, 305. 

of a tally-man, 310, 

311. 

of a pilfering taylor, 

310. 

of a temporizer, 303. 

Y 2 



324: 



Character of a tory, 312. 

< of a town miss, 

310. 

of a trimmer, 312. 

of an ugly woman, 

311. 

Characters: List of books 
containing characters, 246 

Characters, by Butler, 313. 

Characters and Elegies, by 
Wortley, 298. 

Characters vponEssaies, 265. 

Characters addressed to La- 
dies, 312. 

Characters of virtues and vi- 
ces, by bishop Hall, 279. 

Characterism, or the modern 
age displayed, 314. 

Characters, twelve ingenious ; 
or pleasant descriptions, 
311. 

Charles I. 215, 216, 218, 
245, 312. 

Charles II. 215, 216, 218, 
233, 319. 

Charles, Prince, 214. 

Chates, 255. 

Chaucer, 13,112,115,232. 

Cheap, cross in, 1 85. 

Chess-play, verses on, by 
Breton, 270. 



Chete, 254. 

Child, character of, 1. 

Christ-church, Oxford, 212- 
216. 

Christinas, 170. 

Chuck r 184. 

Church-papist, character of, 29. 

Cinthid's Revenge, by Ste- 
phens, 260. 

Citizen, character of a mere 
gull, 181. 

City Match, by Mayne, 95, 
119. 

Clarendon, Lord, 214, 215. His 
character of Earle, 220. 

Clerke's Tale, by Chaucer, 155. 

Cleveland, 302. 

Cliff, Lord, 41. 

Clitus-Alexandrinus, 282. 

Clout, 66, 317. 

Clye, 255. 

Cocke, J. 264. 

Cocke Lorell, 256. 

Cocke Lorelles Bote, 256. 

Cofe, 253, 255. 

Colchester, 313. 

College butler, character of, 50. 

Comments on books, 140. 

Compleat gamester, 317. 

Complimental man, character 
of, 167. 



325 



Conceited man, character 
of, 32. 

Conceited pedlar, by Ran- 
dolph, 183. 

Constable, character of, 59. 

Constantinople, 31. 

Contemplative man, charac- 
ter of, 93. 

Cook, character of a, 120. 

Cooper, Mrs. 266. 

Corranto-coiner, character 
of, 283. 

Couched, 253. 

Coventry, Sir William, 312. 

Councellor, character of a 
worthy, 267. 

character of an 

unworthy, 268. 

Counterfet cranke, 249. 

Country knight, character of, 
53. 

Courtier, character of, 259. 

Coward, character of, 196. 

Cowardliness, essay on, in 
verse, 261. 

Coxeter, 260. 

Cranke, 249. 

Cressey, Hugh, his character 
ofEarle, 222. 

Crampriugs, 255. 

Crimchan, 284. 



Critic, character of, 139. 

Cromwell, 302. 

Crooke, Andrew, xi. 

Cuffen, 254. 

Cupid, 259. 

Cure for the itch, by H. P. 

276, 277. 
Cut, 253, 254, 255. 

Dallison, Maximilian, 267. 
Dances, old, 295. 
Danet, Thomas, 261. 
Danvers, Lord, 237. 
Darius, 121. 
Darkemans, 253, 254* 
David, 299, 300. 
Davies of Hereford, 258. 
Dear year, 199. 
Deboshments, 206. 
Decker, 36, 37, 110, 315, 

248, 317. 
Dele, 249. 

Demaunder for glymmar, 
' 249. 

Demetrius, Charles, 82. 
Denny, Lord Edward, 280. 
Desmiption of unthankful- 

nesse, by Breton, 267. 
Detractor, character of a, 

70. 
Deuseauyel, 255. 



326 



Digby, Sir Kenelm, 16. 

Dinascoso, 252. 

Dining in Pauls, 119. 

Dinners given by the sheriff, 
44. 

Dioclesian, 295. 

Discontented man, charac- 
ter of, 20. 

Discourse of the English 
stage } by Flecknoe, 308. 

Divine, character of a grave, 9. 

Dole, 126. 

Doramerar, 249. 

Door-posts, 19, 316. 

Douce, Mr. 289. 

Doves of Aleppo, 302. 

Doxe, 249. 

Dragon that pursued the 
woman, 71. 

Dramatic Poets t by Lang- 
baine, ix. 

Drugger, 15. 

Drunkard, character of, 153. 

Dryden, 307. 

Dudes, 255. 

Dunton, John, 148. 

Duppa, Dr. 214. 

Dutchmen, their love for 
rotten cheese, 22. 

Earle, Bishop, viii, x, xii ; Life 



of, 211, &c. Characters of, 
219, 220, 221, 222, 318: 
list of his works, 223 : name 
of Earle, xvii. 

Earle, Sir Richard, 245. 

Earle, Thomas, 318. 

Earthquake in Germany, 82. 

Ecclesiastical Polity, by Hook- 
er, 215, 218, 223. translated 
into Latin, 215. 

Edward I. 185. 

Effeminate fool, character of 
269. 

Ejxiwv Baa-iXHOj, 215, 218, 223. 
dedication to the Latin trans- 
lation, 233. 

Eleven of the clock, 43. 

Elizabeth, queen, 23, 43, 116, 
185. 

Ellinor, queen, 185. 

Ellis, 266- 

Ellis, Henry, xi. 

Empty wit, character of an, 
151. 

Endor, witch of, 300. 

England, 108,131. 

England's selected characters, 
265. 

English Gentleman, by Brath- 
wait, 293. 

Epigrams, by Flecknoe, 308. 



327 



Epigrams, by H. P. 277. 

Esau, 24. 

Essayes and Characters, by 
L. G. 305. 

Essays and characters of a 
prison, by Mynshul, 156, 
273. 

Essays of Love and Marriage, 
309. 

Essex, Lord, 295, " lord of 
Essex' measures," a dance, 
295. 

Every Man in his Humour, 
by Ben Jonson, 118, 160. 

Euphormio, 74. 

Excellent vercis worthey Imi- 
tation, supposed by Bre- 
ton, 267. 

Eyes upon noses, 41. 

Elyot, Sir Thomas, 55. 

F. R. 306. 
F.T.301. 
Fabricius, 52. 
Falcons, 55. 
Falstaff, 21, 118. 
Farley, William, 45. 
Farmer, Dr. 257. 
Feltham, Owen, 305. 
Fiddler, character of a poor, 
169. 



Fifty-five enigmatical charac- 
ters, by R. F. 306. 

Figwes, by Breton, 224, 267. 

Figure offoure, by Breton, 224. 

Fines, Catherine, 284. 

Fines, Mary, 284. 

Fines, Sir William, 284. 

Finical, 181. 

Fires, 31. 

Fishing, treatise on, 56. 

Flagge, 253, 254. 

Flatterer, character of a, 176. 

Flecknoe, Richard, 306, 307, 
308. 

Fleming, 200. 

Fletcher, John, 229. 

Flitchman, 248. 

Florio, 252, 

Ford, T. 301. 

Formal man, character of, 27. 

Four of the clock, 122. 

Four for a penny ; or poor Ro- 
bin's characters, 311. 

Four prentises of London, by 
Heywood, 110, 185. 

France, 303. 

Frater, 249. 

Fratemitye of Vacabondes, 248. 
249, 256. 

Fresh-water Mariner, 249. 

Freze, white, 249, 



Frieze jerkins, 248. 
Frost, great, 200. 
Funeral Monuments, by Wee- 
ver, 1 17. 

G. L. 305. 

Gage, 253. 

Galen, 13, 33. 

Gallant, character of an idle, 
57. 

Gallobelgicus, 287. 

Gallus Castratus, 304. 

Gallye slops, 248. 

Gavel-kind, 27. 

Gee and ree, 65. 

Geneva bible, 3. 

Geneva print, 95. 

Gennet, 294. 

Germany, 27, 82. 

Gerry, 255. 

Gigges, 269. 

Gilding of the cross, 185. 

Gildon's Lives of the English 
Dramatic poets, 260. 

Giles's, St. Church, Oxford, 5 

Girding, 21. 

Glossographia Anglicana No- 
ra, 159. 

Gloucester cathedral, 45. 

Gloucestershire, History of, 
by Atkyns, 46. 



Goddard, author of the Mas- 
tif-whelp, 17. 

God's judgments, 82. 

Gold hat-bands, 75. 

Gold tassels, worn by noble- 
men at the University, 75. 

Good and the bad, by Breton, 
15, 265. 

Govemour, by Sir Thomas 
Elyot, 55. 

Gough, Mr. 266, 284. 

Gown of an alderman, 19. 

Granger, Mr. 301. 

Great man, character of a 
meer, 201. 

Greek's collections, 81. 

Grunting chete, 254. 

Gryffith, William, 246. 

Guarded with gold lace, 317. 

Guillim, John, 318, 319. 

Gull in plush, 184. 

GuVs Hornebooke, by Decker, 
36, 37, 110, 315, 317. 

Gygger, 254. 

Hall, Bishop, 279, 315. 
Harleian Miscellany, 306, 309, 

310, 311, 313. 
Harman, Thomas, 246. 
Harmanes, 255. 
Harrison, William, 27, 43, 53. 



329 



Hart-hall, Oxford, 237. 
Haslewood, Mr. 293. 
Hawking, 54, 160. 
Hawkins, Sir John, 126, 295. 
Hay, James Lord, 280. 
Hederby, 1 85. 
Hemingford, Huntingdon- 
shire, 237. 
Henry the Fourth, by Shak- 

speare, 118. 
Henry VI. 16. 
Henry VII. 5, 
Henry VIII. 36. 
Herald, character of an, 130. 
Heraldry, Treatise on, by 

Guillim, 318, 319. 
Herbert, Mr. 247, 256. 
Heylin, Peter, account of, 

237 — inscription on his 

monument, 237. 
Heyne, 167. 
Heywood, 110,185. 
Hickeringill, E. 313. 
High-spirited man, character 

of, 179. 
Hill, Mr. xii. 
Hippocrates, 13. 
History of England, by Carte, 

225. 
Histrio-mastix, by Prynne, 69, 



Hobby, 294. 

Hogeshed, 253. 

Hogg, 997. 

Hogged poney, 294. 

Hoker, 248. 

Holinshed, Raphael, 6, 16, 27, 
43,53,124,199,200. 

Holt, in Germany, 82. 

Honest man, character of an 
ordinary, 206. 

Hooker, Richard, 215, 218, 
221, 223. 

Hool, Samuel, 148. 

Horce Subsecivce, ix. 

Horse-race te^rms, 160. 

Hortus Mertonensis, a poem by 
Earle, 223. 

Hospitall of Incurable Fooles, 
xx. 

Hostess, character of a hand- 
some, 138. 

Houghton, Sir Gilbert, H65. 

Houghton in the Spring, 237. 

Howell, James, 41. 

Hudibras, 313. 

Huggeringe, 252. 

Hugger-mugger, 252. 

Hungarian, 142. 

Hunting, 160. 

Husband, a poem, 257. 



330 



Hygh-pad, 255. 
Hypocrite, character of a 
she precise, 94. 

Jacob, 24. 

Jail-bird, 113. 

James 1. 23, 69, 103, 116. 

James II. 216. 

Jarke, 255. 

Jarke-man, 249. 

Idea of his highness Oliver, 

by Flecknoe, 308. 
Jealous man, character of, 

208. 
Jennet, 294. 
Jerusalem, 186. 
Jesses, 55. 
Jesuits, 112, 129. 
Ignoramus, 264. 
Illustrious wife, by Giles 01» 

disworth, 258. 
Imputation, 162, 183. 
Inquisition, 35. 
Insolent man, character of, 

161. 
John Dory, 170. 
John's, St. College, Oxford, 

237. 
Johnson, Richard, 284. 
Jonathan, 299. 



Jonson, Ben, 118 : Lines by 

260. 
Jordans, 40. 
Isbosheth, 300. 
Islip, Oxfordshire, 237. 
Juliana Barnes, or Berners, 56. 
Jump, 177. 

Keckerman, Bartholomew, 51. 

Keep, 133. 

Ken or Kene, 253, 254, 255. 

Kennett, White, 221: his cha- 
racter of Earle, 220. 

Kent, ^6, 27. 

Kent, maid of, 124. 

King's bench prison, 274 . 

Kippis, Dr. 306. 

Knight, character of a coun- 
try, 53. 

Kynchin-co, 249. 

Kynchin-morte, 249. 

Lage, 253. 
Lagge, 255. 
Lambarde, 27. 
Lambeth-palace, 126. 
Langbaine, ix, 260, 307. 
Laquei ridiculosi, by H. P. 276. 
Lascivious man, character of, 
187. 



331 



Laud, Bishop, 237. 
Laurence, St. 121. 
Leg to the residencer, 132, 

317. 
Legs in hands, 41. 
Legerdemain, 206. 
Legh, Anne, 266. 
Legh, Sir Edward, 266. 
Leicester, Earl of, 266. 
Leigh, see Legh. 



Low Countries, 26, 266, 304: 
Brief Character of, by Fell- 
tham, 26. 

Lowre, 253, 255. 

Lucian, 156. 

Ludgate, 280. 

Lupton, Donald, 292. 

Lybbege, 253. 

Lycosthenes, 115. 

Lyghtmans, 253. 



Lent, 69. 

Letters, by Howell, 41. 

Life and Errors of John Dun- 
ton, by himself, 148. 

Life of Ruddiman, by Chal- 
mers, 50. 

Lilburne, 302. 

Lilly, ix. 

Lipken, 253. 

Lipped, 253. 

LipsiHS, 33. 

London, 46, 199. 

London-bridge, 200. 

London and country carbona- 
doed, by Lupton, 292. 

London Spy, by Ward, 183. 

Long-lane, 287. 

Long pavian, a dance, 295. 

Love's Dominion, by Fleck- 
noe, 308. 



M.G. 273. 

M. R. 280. 

Macbeth, by Shakspeare, 184. 

Mac-Flecknoe, 308. 

Machiavel, 34. 

Magdalen College, Oxford, 

237, 300. 
Maid, a Poem of, by Salston- 

stall, 289. 
Maid's Tragedy, by Beaumont 

and Fletcher, 232. 
Mainwaring, Matthew, 274: 

family of, ib. 
Make, 253. 
Malaga wine, 41. 

Malone Mr. 97. 

Man, Samuel, 301, 

Manchet, 52. 

Mars, 296. 

Martial, 152. 



332 



Martin, 303. 

Mary's, St. Church, Oxford, 

4, 123. 
Masiif Whelp, 17. 
Mastive or young whelpe of 

the old dogge, %77* 
Maund, 254. 
Maurice of Nassau, 31. 
Mayne, 95, 119. 
Meddling-man, character of, 

171. 
Medicis, Francis de, 103. 
Melpomene, 81. 
Memoirs of the Peers of 
England, by Brydges, 
298. 
Menander, 230. 
Menippus, 156. 
Mephibosheth, 299. 
Meres, 266. 
Merry Devil of Edmonton, a 

Comedy, 95. 
Merton-College, Oxford, 212, 

217, 219, 223. 
Microcosmography, 233. Edi- 
tions of, xi. 
Micrologia, by R. M. 280. 
Minshall-hall, 274. 
Minshew, 35, 106, 206. 
Miraculous Newes from the 
Cittie of Holt, 82. 



Miscellania, by Flecknoe, 

307. 
Modest man, character of, 147. 
Monson, Sir Thomas, 55. 
Monster out of Germany, 82. 
Monthly Mirror, 265. 
Monument of Earle, 217. 
Monumenta Anglicana, by Le 

Neve, 244. 
Moorfields, 284. 
Mooted, 106. . 
More the Merrier, 277. 
Morley, Dr. 216. 
Mort, 253. 
Mother's Blessing, by Breton, 

267. 
Mouse-trap, by H. P. 277. 
Munster, 82. 

Murdered bodies supposed to 
bleed at the approach of the 
murderer, 16. 
Musgarve, 303. 
Musick, history of, by Sir John 

Hawkins, 295. 
Myll, 254, 255. 
Mynshul, 95, 156. 
Mynshul, Geffray, 273, 274. 

Nabeker, 253. 

Nabes, 254. 

Namptwich, Cheshire, 274. 



333 



Naps upon Parnassus, 303. 
Nares, Mr. 316. 
Nase, 254. 

Navy of England, 81. 
Nero, 262. 
Netherlands, 284. 
New Anatomie, or character 
of a christian or roundhead, 
297. 
Newcastle, Duke of, 307 : 

lines by, ib. 
New Cudome, 248. 
Neices of this present tceek, 

287. 
Newgate, 280, 302. 
Newman, Sir Thomas, 124. 
Nine Muses, a dance, 295. 
Nine Worthies, 186. 
Nireus, 156. 
Noah's flood, 67. 
Nonconformist, 95. 
Norfolk, History of, by 

Blomefield, 244. 
North, Lord, 298. 
Northern nations, 1 6. 
Norton, Northamptonshire, 

266. 
Nose, 253. 
Nyp, 255. 

Oldham, Mr. 511. 



Oldisworth Giles, 258. 

Old man, character of a good, 

173. 
One and thirty, 62. 
Orford, Lord, 298, 311. 
Osborne, Francis, 116. 
Overbury, Sir Thomas, 257, 

258, 264, 298. 
Overton, 302. 
Oxford, 4, 108, 212, 227, 237, 

267, 300. 

P. H. 276. 

Pad, 255. 

Painted cloth, 83. 

Pallyarde, 249. 

Pamphlets, character of, 302. 

Paracelsus, S3. 

Park, Mr. xii. 267, 289, 311. 

Park, Mr. John James, 289. 

Parrot, Henry, 276. 

Parson, character of a poor, 

from Chaucer, 11. 
Partial man, character of, 107. 
Passion of a discontented minde, 

supposed by Breton, 267. 
Passions of the Spirit, supposed 

by Breton, 267. 
Patrico, 249. 
Pavian, 295. 
Paul V. pope, 102. 



334 



Paul's, St. Church, 117,259, 

284, 288, 292. 
PauPs-cross, 1523 : penance 

at, 124. 
Paul's man, 118. 
Paul's-walk, character of, 

116. 
Paul's-walk, viii : time of 

walking there, 117. 
Paynell, Thomas, 14, 316. 
Pecke, 254. 
Pegasus, 293. 
Pembroke, Henry, earl of, 

227. 
Pembroke, Philip, earl of, 

212, 213. 
Pembroke, William, earl of, 

223: lines on, 227. 
Percy, bishop, 266. 
Peters, 302. 

Peter's, St. Church, Oxford, 5. 
Pharoah, 24. 
Philaster, by Beaumont and 

Fletcher, 232, 
Philip II. of Spain, 36. 
Plwenix Nest, by R. S. 270. 
Physician against his will, by 

Flecknoe, 307. 
Physician, character of a 

dull, 12. 
Pick-thank, 191. 



Pictura Loquentes, by Sal- 

tonstall, 289. 
Pierce, character of Earle, 222. 
Pierce Penilesse, 177. 
Pineda, 159. 
Plausible man, character of, 

84. 
Plautus, 140, 231. 
Player, characters of, 67, 281. 
Pleasant ivalkes of Moorefields, 

284. 
Plodding student, character of, 

114. 
Plutarch, 39. 
Pluto, 156. 
Points, 42. 
Poland, 284. 
Ponsonby, William, xx. 
Poor man, character of, 203. 
Poor Tom, 249. 
Pope, A. 307. 
Popplar of Yarum, 254. 
Posie, by Breton, 267. 
Post and pair, 316. 
Pot-poet, character of, 80. 
Practice of Piety, 97. 
Pratt, Mr. 280. 
Prauncer, 253. 
Prayer for the college, 315. 
Prayer at the end of a play. 

315. 



335 



Prayer used before the uni- 
versity, 6. 
Preacher, character of a 

young iaw, 4. 
Pretender to learning, cha- 
racter of, 127. 
Prigger, see Prygger. 
Primero, 35, 36, 37. 
Primivist, 35. 
Print, set in, 269. 
Prison, character of a, 156. 
Prisoner, character of a, 275. 
Privy councellor, character 

of a worthy, 267. 
Profane man, character of, 

194. 
Progresses of queen Elizabeth, 

266. 
Prologue, 110. 
Prolusions, by Capel, 258. 
Proper, 17, 159. 
Prygger of prauncers, cha- 
racter of a, 250. 
Prynne, 69. 
Puritan, 136, 170. 
Puritan, picture of a, 257. 
Puttenham, 266. 

Quanto Dyspayne, a dance, 

295. 
Quarromes, 253. 



Querpo, 159. 

Quintilian, 33. 

Quyer, or quyaer, 254, 255. 

Radcliffe, Sir Alexander, 282. 
Raie, 272. 
Ramus, 33. 
Randolph, Dr. 183. 
Rash man, character of, 189. 
Rat, black-coat, terms of con- 
tempt towards the clergy, 
195. 
Rawlinson, Dr. 295. 
Re, isle of, 225 : expedition to, 

ib. 
Reading, Berkshire, 316. 
Rebellion, History of, by Cla- 
rendon, 214, 
Reed, Isaac, 50, 306, 315, 

317. 
Reformatio precisely charac- 
tered, 297. 
Regiment of Health, 14. 
Regimen Sanitatis Salerni, 316. 
Remains, Butler's, 313. 
Remains, Camden's, 81. 
Reserved mau, character of, 

34. 
Resolves, by Feltham, 305. 
Retchlessly, 155. 
Richard III. 89. 



336 



Rich man, charade*' of a 
sordid, 198. 

Ritson, Mr. 267. 

Robert of Normandy, 186. 

Roge, 248. 

Roger, 253. 

Rogers, G. 261. 

Rogue, see Roge. 

Rome, 10, 30, 101. 

Rome-bouse, 254. 

Round breeches, 146. 

Royal and noble Authors, by 
Lord Orford, 298. 

Ruddiman, Life of, by Chal- 
mers, 50. 

Ruff of Geneva, print, 95. 

Ruffs, 269. 

Ruffian, 255. 

Ruffler, 248, 253. 

Ruffnianes, 255. 

Ruffe-pecke, 254. 

Russell, Earl of Bedford, 13. 

Rutland, Lady, 229. 

S. R. 270. 

Sack, 40, 41, 42, 139. 
Saleme, 316. 
Salisbury, 318. 
Salomon, 253. 
Saltonstall, Wye, 289. 
Sandwich, Earl of, 301. 



Satyricul characters, 303. 
Satyrical Essayes, by Stephens , 

259, 264. 
Saul, 299. 
Saxons, 27. 
Say, E. vii. 
Saye, 253. 
Scaliger, 1 29. 
Sceptick in religion, character 

of, 99. 
Scholar, character of a, 61. 
Scold, character of a, 277. 
Scetus, 98. 
Sejanus, 108. 

Select second hvsland for Sir 
Thomas Orerburic's wife, by 
Davies of Hereford, 258. 
Seneca, 128. 

Sergeant, or catehpole, cha- 
racter of, 141. 
Serving man, character of, 159. 
Sforza, 89. 

Shakspeare, xx, 2, 16, 36, 83, 
116, 126, 184, 252, 295, 315, 
316, 317. 
Shark, character of a, 41. 
Shark to, 206. 
Sharking, 204. 
Sheba, 300. 

Sheriff's hospitality, and table, 
44. 



337 



Sherry wine, 40, 41. 

Shimei, 299. 

Ship, 254. 

Shop-keeper, character of, 

134. 
Short-hand, 5. 
Shrewsbury, Elizabeth Coun 

tess of, 247. 
Shrove Tuesday, 69. 
Sidney, Sir Philip, 227, 230. 
Silk strings to books, 74. 
Singing-men in cathedral 
churches, character of, 
132. 
Skower, 255. 
Skypper, 253. 
Socinus, Faustus, 103. 
Solemne Passion of the Souk's 

Love, by Breton, 267. 
Soliman and Perseda, 177. 
Sordid rich man, character 

of, 198. 
Spaniards, 112. 
Specimens of early English 

Poets, by Ellis, 266. 
Spelman, Sir Henry, 27. 
Spinola, 31. 
Sports and Pastimes, by 

Strutt, 36, 55, 63, 
Springes for Woodcocks, by 
H. P. 276. 



', 137. 
Stanley, Richard, 45. 
Stayed-man, character of a, 

144. 
Steevens, George, 16,126, 206, 

276, 310, 317. 
Stephen, Master, 160. 
Stephens, John, 260, 264. 
Stews, 91. 
Stowe, 255. 

Stow's Survey of London, 185. 
Strange Metamorphosis of Man, 

293. 
Streglethorp Church, 244 : fa- 
mily, 318. 
Strike, 254. 
Strummell, 253. 
Strutt, Mr. 36, 55, 63, 
Strype, Mr. 185. 
Stur bridge-fair, 183. 
Suetonius, 15. 
Sufferings of the Clergy, by 

Walker, 215. 
Surfeit to A. B.C. 303. 
Surgeon, character of a, 90, 
Suspicious or jealous man, cha- 
racter of, 208. 
Swadder, 249. 
Swedes, 16. 

Sweedish Intelligencer, 287. 
Switzer, 284. 
z 



338 



Table-book, 315. 
Tables, 63. 
Tacitus, 128. 
Talbot, Sir John, 226. 
Tamworth, Staffordshire, 

266. 
Tanner, Bishop, 267. 
Tantalus, 275. 
Tavern, character of a, 37. 
Telephus, 39. 

Tempest, by Shakspeare, 206. 
Tennis, 74. 
Ten Years' Travel, by Fleck- 

noe, 308. 
Term, character of the, 291. 
Thersites, 156. 
Thyer,Mr. 313. 
Tiberius, 108. 
Times anatomized, 301. 
Tinckar, or tinker, 249. 
Tiring-house, 68. 
Titus, 15. 
Tobacco, 39. 

Tobacco-seller, character of, 
79 : called a smoak-seller, 
ib. 

Togman, 253. 

Tower, 254. 

Town-precisian, 8. 

Traditional Memoires, by Os- 
borne, 116. 



Trumpeter, character of a, 109. 

Tryne, 253. 

Tryning, 255. 

Tuft-hunter, 75. 

Tully (see Cicero), 23, 33. 

Turk, 142. 

Turner, Thomas, 261. 

Tyburn, 26, 82, 303. 

Tyntermell, a dance, 295. 

Valiant man, character of, 308. 

Varro, 140. 

Vault at Gloucester, 45. 

Velvet of a gown, 74. 

Venner, 40. 

Vespatian, 15. 

Villiers, George, Duke of 

Buckingham, 312. 
Virgil, 167. 
Virginals, 97, 
University College, Oxford, 

217. 
University dun, character of a, 

142. 
University, character of a 

young gentleman of the, 73. 
University statutes, 13. 
Vorstius, Conrade, 103. 
Upright man, 248, 253. 
Urinal, 12. 
Urine, custom of examining 



339 



it by physicians, 15 : tax 
on, ib. 

Vulcan, 296. 

Vulgar-spirited man, charac- 
ter of, 111. 

Vyle, 255. 



Wales, 131. 
Walker, Dr. 215. 
Walker, Sir Edward, 318. 
Walton, Isaac, x : his cha- 
racter of Earle, 221. 
Walwin, 302. 
Wapping, 287. 
Ward, C. xii. 
Ward, Edward, 183. 
Warde, William, 13. 
Warnborough, South, 237. 
Warton, Thomas, 247,276. 
Washbourne, R. his Divine 

Poems, 1. 
Waste, 255. 
Watch, 253, 254. 
Weak man, character of, 76. 
Weever, 117. 
Westminster, 156, 185, 200, 

237, 292, 318. 
Westminster, the fellow of, 

201. 



Whimzies; or a new cast of 

Characters, 282, 315. 
Whip for a jockey, 310. 
Whipjacke, 249. 
Whitson ale, 171. 
Whydds, 255. 
Widow, a comedy, 44. 
Wife, character of a good, 

278. 
Wife, now the Widdow, of Sir 

Thomas Overbury, 257, 264. 

editions of, 258. 
William I. 185. 
Wood, Anthony a, x, 212, 213, 

217,224, 238,.258,300. 
Worcester, Marquis of, 36. 
World displayed, xii. 
World's wise man, character 

of, 87. 
Wortley, Anne, 301. 
Wortley, Sir Francis, 298, 300. 
Wortley, Sir Richard, 300. 
Writing' school-master, by 

Bales, 5. 
Wyn, 253. 

Yarum, 254. 
York, 46, 211, 318. 
York, James, Duke of, after- 
wards James II. 216, 298. 



340 

Young gentleman of the uni- Younger brother, character of, 

versity, character of, 73. 24. 
Young man, character of, 

47. Ziba, 299. 



THE END. 



ERRATUM. 

Page xi. line 12, for first, readjift. 



HARDING AND WRIGHT, PRINTERS, 

St. Jolm's-squai c, London. 



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